Michael runs his teeth over his bottom lip. There’s nothing like horror or fear in his expression, but there is a cast of worry along with a heavy sort of recognition. His body is awful. It reels and lurches and changes inside at the drop of a hat, all on its own. The thought of someone else being able to do that to him—and far, far worse things—is nightmarish, but comes naturally. His dreams are frequently grotesque and violent and his imagination is fertile. This aspect of magic isn’t hard for him to accept as possible. It’s a little too simple.
Wolfgang isn’t like that, though. They wouldn’t do that. They’d use it for good things, like fixing paper cuts or helping animals. Right?
“I know you can’t actually do it,” he says, turning his head away and fiddling with the Transformer again, “but if you could change your eyes to see as many stars as I can, you know, just for a second or something, that’s a thing I’d want.”