The scent of magic suddenly sharpened, it was an odd smell that bypassed you nostrils and cut straight through your skull until it was all that filled your head, that strange combination of almost copper and fruit, it had a blood-like quality to it in that the moment it hit your nose, you instinctively knew something unnatural was happening, something that ground against the very fabric of reality itself. To most it inspired a knee jerk reaction of anxiety, but most living creatures were strongly bound to THIS world, THIS universe, when dogs smelt magic they howled, cats stared, horses fled and humans called it ungodly and crucified their own people for practicing it, but practicing mages had already pried themselves halfway out of the physical realm, to them, to HIM, it was comforting and homely, like the smell of freshly baked bread or ground coffee.<br/><br/>As Amora spoke her name left her lips not in a cloud of breath, but in a plume of smoke. It curled from her lips, dark in colour and lingered in front of her for a moment until all the tiny, visible tendrils drew themselves together to form a word. It was a word in arcane script, a language studied by only those with a knowledge of  the spirit realm or an interest in preternatural energies, that word was 'Amora'.<br/><br/>Naeth reached over and cupped the whispy, ghost word in both hands, "Amora WAS your name, but now you've given it to me," he explained slowly, carefully because humans were notoriously stupid. He opened his hands so his palms hung outstretched before her, across his skin was that same glyph the smoke had formed, only now there was no sign of the smoke, of her spoken word, now it stood across the skin of his hands like a mark or a tattoo, "See that? That word is your name, it's the only thing you brought with you, the only thing that you own and now it's mine. In about a week, maybe less, you'll forget it, you'll know that you HAD a name, but no matter how hard to remember it you'll never know! You'll never be able to hear your mother saying it again, not even in memory, you'll never remember your friends calling you it, you'll forget who you were completely," he smirked feeling particularly pleased with himself. It wasn't an easy spell to cast at the best of times, but he'd done it flawlessly, "If you're lucky I might even call you by it once or twice, but for now you're going to find a nice little corner to curl up in and sleep on it. Don't worry, I'm not going to chain you or force you to stay, but," he glanced her up and down one last time, "if you run, you'll never be Amora again,"