Wolfgang finishes creating a length of silver wire — chain? — and lets it pool on the counter before reaching for a pen, having to go through a couple of them to find one that works. They hold it in their left hand, hovering over a small pad of paper, the top page of which is covered in other scribbles, numbers and snippets of notes. Boring things like 'get butter.'
“It needs to know who you are.”
Naming is easier. People tend to respond poorly to 'so I need your blood.' They call Wolfgang's mentor — tall, polished, a former surgeon — a sorcerer, but people are already calling Wolfgang a witch.