"She pays her mentors with the blood of the innocent," he said, gripping the cup he was holding in his hand tightly. "The poor, the defenseless, the weak for her own gain. How can anyone make such spells with malicious intent? God never created this world for debauchery like this to happen to his children."<br/><br/>When he heard that the The Archive won't say what the vile witch thought of him, he set his jaw and looked at the woman. "Why not? I need to know what she thinks of, what she is planning to do with me. I need to have some sort of edge against her! She has been always ahead of me whenever we've met and I'm tired of it, I wish to somehow have a blade against her throat."<br/><br/><em>Preferably</em>, he suddenly though,<em>a real one against her neck as I push it in-</em><br/><br/>"Don't," he said to himself, clenching and unclenching the hand he had at his side. He reminded himself of Father Frollo's kind acts, but they kept going away when he thought of his murder.<br/><br/>He gave a bitter smile to her, shaking his head. "The only side of me that she wants to see is my dead one," he said to the woman, sipping some of the tea in an effort to calm himself. He remembered their many dances and fights. Her taunts and words and everything of that devilish redhead. "I don't understand... why does she care for my wrath? She should be<em>afraid</em>of it, since it is aimed all at her and her alone."