She stands before me in spectral form, luminescent in ways her physical body doesn't quite achieve. The incantations visible on her flesh burn brighter in this state, golden symbols that speak to heritage she's only beginning to acknowledge. Her hands lift before her face, fingers spreading as she examines their translucent quality with the particular attention of someone encountering the impossible.
Then her eyes—still crimson, even separated from vampire flesh—find mine with fury that makes my smile widen.
"Ugh!" The exclamation carries impressive volume for someone currently existing outside their physical form. "You did that thing again that killed me!"
Killed her.
Such dramatic phrasing.
Though I suppose temporary death does technically qualify as death, even if the temporary part makes it significantly less permanent than the word usually implies.
"Temporary soul extraction is all fun and games," I note, allowing amusement to saturate my tone, "until you don't know how to get back into your body."
The statement carries warning beneath its playful surface.
She's separated from her flesh now, dependent on my magic to return her to the vessel that keeps her tethered to mortal existence. Without guidance, without training, she could wander this liminal space indefinitely—conscious but incorporeal, aware but unable to interact with the physical world she's always known.
A useful lesson in vulnerability.
In trust.
In the reality that her new powers come with dangers she can't yet navigate alone.
Her spectral features twist into a pout that looks entirely too endearing for someone attempting to project intimidation.
She stomps toward me—or performs the spectral equivalent of stomping, her form moving through frozen air with the particular determination of someone who has decided that being a ghost won't prevent them from expressing displeasure.
"Put me back."
The demand carries the particular authority of someone accustomed to giving orders, to having those orders obeyed. Her bond mates have clearly been training her for leadership whether she realizes it or not, encouraging the confidence that makes her voice ring with expectation rather than plea.
My smirk only widens.
"Well, if you kiss me and say please..." I let the offer trail off, suggestion hanging in the crystallized air between us. "Maybe."
The groan that escapes her carries exasperation profound enough to transcend physical form.
"Nevermind." She crosses translucent arms over a chest that glows with incantations. "I'll die. Good ridd?—"
The words cut off abruptly.
Her attention, previously locked onto me with the particular intensity of someone fantasizing about violence, suddenly shifts. Those crimson eyes widen as they track across the library—no, not the library. Beyond the library.Throughthe library, to the mystical reality that exists beneath and alongside the physical space we've been occupying.
There it is.
The moment I've been waiting for.
The reason I extracted her soul rather than simply explaining what Fae sight allows.
My smile grows as I watch her take in what her awakened senses can finally perceive.
The library transforms when viewed through Fae eyes.
The shelves remain, but they're no longer simple wood and metal—they'realive, roots extending into floors that aren't truly floors, branches reaching toward ceilings that aren't truly ceilings. Each book pulses with contained knowledge that manifests as visible light, some burning with fierce intensity, others glowing with gentle warmth, still others carrying the particular darkness of forbidden information that probably shouldn't be read by anyone not prepared for consequences.
The floating candelabras reveal their true nature—not enchanted metal but crystallized fire-spirits, beings of pure flame that have chosen to serve as illumination in exchange for whatever bargain the Academy's founders struck with their kind. They have faces, if one knows how to look. Expressions that shift with moods incomprehensible to beings made of flesh rather than combustion.
The feast on the table shows its construction—magic woven into edible form, ingredients summoned from realms that don't exist in physical space, nutrition crafted from pure intention rather than agricultural effort. The steam rising from each dish carries signatures of the spells that created it, tracery visible to awakened eyes.
