She turned to consider his work – their work – with a keener eye. She catalogued his words next to her own reactions, considered their source. She trusted Samuel, had learned that nearly two months ago when he first welcomed her into his world and art. He had offered her something of great value and she didn’t take his gift, or his levels of trust, lightly.
Looking at her knife, the product of their experiment heated something in her chest she lacked words for. If she was to think herself a partner in this, it was essential she offer as much as she received. Transparency was the best way she could think of now. “I do not doubt the results before me, nor do I take it for granted. I find it difficult to think it was my magic that did any of the work.”
Themis didn’t think herself weak or lacking in magic, but she was raised to view it as a crutch. Magic makes you lazy was Uncle Horace’s constant refrain in her youth. The problem was, Themis had also found the opposite to be true. She was a fast learner and picked up spells easily. But Themis still had to try. Somethings had come to her easily, others took time, but all had required effort. The mornings after their experiments reminded Themis that she was putting in backbreaking effort into their transmutations, but it still wasn’t what she expected. “I don’t say this brag or to belittle the danger we were both in, but it felt natural, all of it. Not easy, but intuitive. I do not find transfiguration intuitive; but somehow my magic understands permanent transmutation?”
She considered how to best explain herself and looked at the matching chestnut artifacts now on her mantel. They were both tools; both weapons; and both meant for her. She smiled, having a theory to her own mystery. “Perhaps it’s old magic, like when we are paired with our wands. No one needed to tell me my wand, I felt it. I knew how to communicate with it. It was natural.”
Themis released his hands and regretted the separation. Perhaps it was their experiments together (or the cheating of death together), but his physical proximity felt safe. It had bothered her the night she last left his tower. Arriving in her room she felt frozen, isolated, and vulnerable on arrival. It made her want to walk back into the fireplace and back to Samuel, back to safety. She dismissed the whole confusion as a trick of the wine they enjoyed.
She managed to retain a straight face for an admirable amount of time before grinning at his stone cold expression. “I have a feeling that face works on the sixth years, but I know better.” She couldn’t keep her attention from the blade and found herself back in front of the fireplace, a finger tracing the spine of the blade. As her finger caressed along the handle, the perfect chestnut handle fit to her palm, she couldn’t keep the pride and wonder from her eyes. “We created this. We willed this.” How could she say that magic made for idleness?
Looking at her knife, the product of their experiment heated something in her chest she lacked words for. If she was to think herself a partner in this, it was essential she offer as much as she received. Transparency was the best way she could think of now. “I do not doubt the results before me, nor do I take it for granted. I find it difficult to think it was my magic that did any of the work.”
Themis didn’t think herself weak or lacking in magic, but she was raised to view it as a crutch. Magic makes you lazy was Uncle Horace’s constant refrain in her youth. The problem was, Themis had also found the opposite to be true. She was a fast learner and picked up spells easily. But Themis still had to try. Somethings had come to her easily, others took time, but all had required effort. The mornings after their experiments reminded Themis that she was putting in backbreaking effort into their transmutations, but it still wasn’t what she expected. “I don’t say this brag or to belittle the danger we were both in, but it felt natural, all of it. Not easy, but intuitive. I do not find transfiguration intuitive; but somehow my magic understands permanent transmutation?”
She considered how to best explain herself and looked at the matching chestnut artifacts now on her mantel. They were both tools; both weapons; and both meant for her. She smiled, having a theory to her own mystery. “Perhaps it’s old magic, like when we are paired with our wands. No one needed to tell me my wand, I felt it. I knew how to communicate with it. It was natural.”
Themis released his hands and regretted the separation. Perhaps it was their experiments together (or the cheating of death together), but his physical proximity felt safe. It had bothered her the night she last left his tower. Arriving in her room she felt frozen, isolated, and vulnerable on arrival. It made her want to walk back into the fireplace and back to Samuel, back to safety. She dismissed the whole confusion as a trick of the wine they enjoyed.
She managed to retain a straight face for an admirable amount of time before grinning at his stone cold expression. “I have a feeling that face works on the sixth years, but I know better.” She couldn’t keep her attention from the blade and found herself back in front of the fireplace, a finger tracing the spine of the blade. As her finger caressed along the handle, the perfect chestnut handle fit to her palm, she couldn’t keep the pride and wonder from her eyes. “We created this. We willed this.” How could she say that magic made for idleness?
![[Image: Bka0H0x.jpeg]](https://i.imgur.com/Bka0H0x.jpeg)