Re: The Mirror/The Illusion
"A measure of awful and a measure of nice," Friday considered, head still drawing closer to her shoulder. And however much a person had of each decided who they were. She supposed she was equal parts awful and nice, with about a ton of each to make up her inner tincture. "You," and she reached out with her empty hand, fingernails painted red peppers, and took hold of their jaw, their index finger following the bone, their chin against the meat of her thumb. She was careful with her touch as she directed them to turn their head so she might gaze upon the darkness of their ear canals and see straight through to their logic.
"Changeable. A changeling," she murmured with respect, not fear. She laughed, a sudden shock of joy at the earnest offer. "Oh? Would you stay by my side, soaking up my attention?' There was a truth there, and perhaps she could mold them into whatever shape she wanted, but there was something abhorrent in such power. It wasn't desired. "I want you to remain as you are. You strength is change, and I want to see all the ways you do. That's what I want."
Would the bargain be struck with that? She released them, green eyes bright, keen to know if they would accept her price.