[But thirty-three is so young, even in the fragile limited lifespan of a human that was not long. Bren himself has never been in love, even with the other werewolves that he had been given to to imprint on, it had never felt like how he imagined love would feel.
He imagined it would be more like stepping into freefall, suspiciously like the way his heart decided to defy gravity in his chest when Essek Thelyss looked at him -- which was a confusing and frightening thought.
His thoughts were, mercifully, redirected to looking around as they moved into the wing of the manor that had not been part of his tour earlier. Essek's personal wing. He knew that Drow had sensitive eyes, that they were not fans of bright light or the sun at the best of times. It made sense enough that Bren wasn't going to question it. His eyes swept the room once Essek had opened the door, curious, but constrained by the limitations of his human eyes in the dimness.
His fingers itched to slip into shapes he shouldn't have known, to carve a sigil through the open air, the start of an incantation on his tongue out of reflex and muscle memory, knowing full well they would send up several soft globules of light. Why did he know that? He looked back to Essek.]
I have many questions about him. And about you.
[And about me. He gave into the urge in his fingers, surrendering to the instinct and in a moment four small globules of light flared softly into existence, the illumination soft and dim, a gentle amber glow, familiar to Essek without doubt. But now Bren could see the darkened room better without waiting for his host to trigger whatever lights may have been in here.]
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[But thirty-three is so young, even in the fragile limited lifespan of a human that was not long. Bren himself has never been in love, even with the other werewolves that he had been given to to imprint on, it had never felt like how he imagined love would feel.
He imagined it would be more like stepping into freefall, suspiciously like the way his heart decided to defy gravity in his chest when Essek Thelyss looked at him -- which was a confusing and frightening thought.
His thoughts were, mercifully, redirected to looking around as they moved into the wing of the manor that had not been part of his tour earlier. Essek's personal wing. He knew that Drow had sensitive eyes, that they were not fans of bright light or the sun at the best of times. It made sense enough that Bren wasn't going to question it. His eyes swept the room once Essek had opened the door, curious, but constrained by the limitations of his human eyes in the dimness.
His fingers itched to slip into shapes he shouldn't have known, to carve a sigil through the open air, the start of an incantation on his tongue out of reflex and muscle memory, knowing full well they would send up several soft globules of light. Why did he know that? He looked back to Essek.]
I have many questions about him. And about you.
[And about me. He gave into the urge in his fingers, surrendering to the instinct and in a moment four small globules of light flared softly into existence, the illumination soft and dim, a gentle amber glow, familiar to Essek without doubt. But now Bren could see the darkened room better without waiting for his host to trigger whatever lights may have been in here.]
You were both mages?