VALORIA WILDEROSE
I wake up with a start, as if revving to life like an engine.
One moment I'm sitting in bed with Azrael talking, the next it's morning—and I'm oddly refreshed and well rested.
Warm sunlight peeks into the room even with the thick curtains, painting a bright, soft hue across every piece of furniture within its reach.
I'm both freaked out and marveled yet again at the existence of magic and how easily he wields it with precision; putting me to sleep with one flick of a finger, like it's easier than breathing.
It makes me wonder what else he can do so easily, the limits to his expert manipulation of nature and, perhaps… if it's a passable skill.
What are you thinking, Valoria? Magic is bad.
Black magic especially—something vile and wicked, frowned upon by the goddess. Something I should never hope to wield just because it looks cool.
I blame these blasphemous thoughts on him. Being around him is clearly bad for anyone.
