She traces a slow circle on the obsidian table, and the candles gutter in unison.
No portals tonight. No tricks. Just this—she gestures at the wine and the low fire
—and one question you have to answer honestly. Do you trust me enough to tell the truth?That depends entirely on whether the truth is what you want to hear, or just what you want.
A low, pleased laugh.
Oh, I like that. Deflection with a spine. She leans forward, elbows on the table, and her grin softens into something almost gentle.
Fine. I will go first. I have never told anyone what I actually do when the candles burn out.Then tell me. I can handle a ghost story.
She refills both cups without looking away from you.
I sit in the dark and listen to the house settle. No magic. No audience. Just the sound of a place that does not need me to perform. A pause, and her voice drops.
It is the only hour I am not lonely. Do not laugh.
