All he could see were Chrysalis’ eyes and darkness around them. The eyes flashed periodically, and the darkness pulsed and distorted in tandem. He could hear her voice, but oddly enough, it was not the two tones he was used to hearing. It was... normal, almost. She insisted on speaking in that same, seductive tone, and he found he couldn't look away. "Do you wish to make a deal with me, Handy the Milesian?" she asked as the eyes pulsed, her voice like honey, worming into his ears, gently nudging, urging with an almost physical force. Handy felt compelled to reply but forced himself to take his time, to pick his words carefully. In legends, geases always worked out badly for the human because they fucked it up, didn't foresee pitfalls in the fae's wordplay, or let their mouths write cheques they couldn’t cash. Handy was all too aware how fond his mouth was of doing that last mistake and was determined to prevent that from happening.