A moment of silence allowed the words that Prometheus had spoken to sink in, affecting even himself in a way. Before, he'd never spoken aloud of this sort of thing, never really having been asked that question, nor finding the reason to admit to this out loud. He'd held inside those feelings, those thoughts for quite some time, for as long as he could ever remember, or hope to remember...but this was the first time he'd spoke to someone about it. Admitting to what he hated, and how he felt about it. He wondered, even if he were to live on forever, would he truly be able to find love like she'd said? Would her hope that he was wrong to come true? He may have been older, and lived longer, and maybe a trifle bit wiser than she...but that did not mean he could see the future. In moments before he had wished he'd been given that gift, but alas, it was never meant to be. Memories of things gone wrong, moments never meant to have happened, mistakes and plans have gone wrong...tears shed, lives lost, all because he had absolutely no clue what the future had held at that point in time. And that, too, was a reason why he hated it. Time was a cruel thing, kind and soft like a gentle rabbit one second, and the next rearing its head back and baring poisonous fangs ready to sink into your skin.<br/><br/>She spoke up, and he looks to her, a soft sigh slipping past his parted lips, a mixture of sadness, contempt, and something...else...tracing his features. Was it okay though? Really? He had felt the need to apologize, but if she said that there wasn't any need...was that the truth? No one could know for certain the answer to that question.<span style="font-style: italic">"Yes...it is very hard...and to know, even with my abilities, the passage of time only moves forward. There is no...there is..."</span>His voice gets choked up a bit, and he barely could finish what he was saying, the last few words sounding forced, his tongue struggling to form each syllable, his throat tightening, almost as if it were trying to choke him instead of admitting things out loud.<span style="font-style: italic">"There is no going back..."</span><br/><br/>Looking away, he lowers his eyes, not wanting her to see the flames in his eyes go out, the dullness that now took place. It was like a candle, so bright and cheerful, alive and dancing, suddenly to be snuffed out by a puff of the wind, or a splash of water dousing the flickering light. He only dared look up again when she spoke once more, telling him what she had planned on doing, and if there was any cleaning to be done. He couldn't help but to wonder slightly what she was planning with these herbs of hers if she had something she wanted to do...some secret that she was keeping from him. It seemed that way, but he didn't pry, instead nods in agreement.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"If you would like any assistance, I would be more than happy to help you dry these herbs of yours. Fire isn't always something to burn things with..."</span>Raising his hand, he focuses on his palm, his skin starting to glow from underneath, the light spreading from the center of his hand and outward to his fingertips. It gently flickered and changed in tones of orange and yellows, almost like the way coal appeared when smoldering in a fire pit. And, hovering around just above the surface of his skin, the air seemed to dance and quiver, as the heat from his body thus heated the air itself. He holds his hand out to her, careful not to touch her with his fingers, but so she could feel the warm hair coming off of him.<span style="font-style: italic">"See? Even though fire can be deadly...it can also be beautiful. I've...always been fond of fire. I know it is considered conceited but...I think that fire is the most beautiful of the elements. It can burn in the brightest of lights, and yet, become so small. It offers warmth, guidance, and so much more. But it can also be extremely fickle. Just a small blaze can set fire to an entire forest, causing destruction, death, and chaos. And yet, even from the ashes...life can start anew."</span>He smiles a bit, gazing deep into Emory's eyes.<span style="font-style: italic">"Don't you think fire is beautiful?"</span><br/><br/>As he stood there, he realized...to him, she was like fire. She'd come in blazing, burning him but not in a bad way...giving him hope. She was a wildfire, roaring and free, with nothing in her path to stop her from going where she wanted. And that...was beautiful too. Her spine was steel, her heart was armor, and her soul...her soul was fire. He takes a breath and steps back a little, letting the breath out of his lungs slowly. Then, he turns, walking to the doorway, pausing with his back to it.<span style="font-style: italic">Don't lose your fire..."</span><br/><br/>He steps out of the room, and goes into the living room, stopping by Wednesday's side, who still lay sleeping on the couch. He showed no signs of waking, though there seemed to be no change in his well being. Prometheus guessed that this was both frustrating, but a blessing at the same time. It meant that Wednesday wasn't any worse... He sighs softly, kneeling down and looking at the young elf's face, studying it intently. What had happened? Why had this happened at all? What had Wednesday been trying to do? If he saved Prometheus, did that mean he was able to save anyone else? The questions were coming around again, and like before...there was no answer to them.