The manor always was dark. There was something lively about the shadows and Mag suspected that it had something to do with Erik's presence. Even during the daylight hours the large house seemed overshadowed with feeling. It was the same frame of darkness her own world had been shrouded in though the feeling of it was different. This was so different. Here there was passion, back home only death and greed and fear.
She could smell the gin. It didn't need to be present on his words for her to know the syllables coasted with it. The moonlight glimmered from the glass and the diva paused. She would go no further. Not yet.
At his words she smiled and tipped her head some at the compliment. "I have had a long time to perfect it," she replied. She didn't need to thank him for the compliment, not outright, but there was no tone of snobbery in her voice either. It just was. Singing came as natural as breathing or sleeping to her, she didn't thank anyone for those things either.
How did you explain to a man clouded in darkness that he was not the only one that thrived in the shadows? How did you tell anyone that now, even in the freedom and safety here, that every droplet of passion, grace and focus stemmed from a corrupt foundation of pride, vanity, greed and fear?
Mag wouldn't. She wouldn't even allow it to overcome her words. Her eyes sparkled and twirled merrily, "I do now." It was a complex answer but it was the truth. She did live and survive on song and grace, as one might food and air. He should know. Both of them lived in the music.