"She is not a girl, Val! You know this! I know you sense it- the power that runs through her veins, the fire, the passion! She is just as much of a goldmine as she is a minefield. All I did was inhabit her body, but her powers- they are all hers. She is a monstrous creation," Lyla spits, not hesitating to flick her finger up towards where I sit with Alastor on the throne this time. But something other than pure disgust lingers in that gaze- a fearful trepidation under a mask of confidence.
Never once, in Val's memories or otherwise, have I seen such a look of terror plastered across her face. And here I thought she would be arrogant and snooty the entire time we talked with her. It seems I am pleasantly mistaken.
From down where Lyla trembles, Tarquin takes a few paces forwards with a deliberate slowness. He appears to be smiling to himself.
