Araia squinted as she looked to the east. Indeed, she heard the wizard's words correctly, and for a brief moment she imagined her father floating above a deep black chasm that delved into the earth's warm fat belly.  Suspended in air he would be, perfectly animated, and scared witless for certain for who wouldn't be? And all the while he would beg for mercy, and all the while it is done for amusement and, of course, punishment for casting her aside to the infamous Archmage Kos with little care for what she will or must endure to learn the magics to give her family power and prestige in the city. She could not conceive of the gravity of learning certain spells, and no doubt her father could not conceive the idea that it did not give the family power, but her, and her alone. As these thoughts leisurely roamed through her mind, she suddenly realized that it was wrong of her to wish another ill, and she shook her head, lightly squeezing the Archmage's hand as if he were now her best friends conspiring to do something naughty.<br/><br/>“That is positively dreadful!” Araia exclaimed, her voice but a mere whisper, yet to a degree, she yearned to hear more.  “And I could never be so cruel. No, never. If I had to do something like that, I would hold them above a thicket of roses, give them a pleasant sight instead of something terrifying, make them at ease, and if I had to let them fall for some unknown reason, they would fall onto something soft, something pleasant, yet hideously prickly that would tear at their flesh.” Araia chimed out, and then her brow furrowed as she gazed up at him clueless to the very idea that she clung to his hand.<br/><br/>“And how would that work anyways?” Araia inquired, and drew closer to him.  “Must you concentrate for long periods of time, or can one knot the spell off like how one ties a shoe? Or maybe it differs from one individual to another? And certainly the more well practiced one is at the spell, the more powerful one becomes?” She prattled off the questions, rapidly, thinking aloud and then her eyes finally focused on their hands, and surprised at the reality, she poised herself and let her hand slip from his.  “I must apologize. Learning certain things has a tendency to excite me although so few people ever understand that.” She took a step away from him, timidly looked away until he walking into his own home, giving her access.<br/><br/>Following him like a shadow, Araia proceeded to walk inside, trying to look at everything around her; the stacks of books intrigued her, and she ran her fingertips over the spines as she passed one bookcase. The house was divine, beautiful and grand, almost mystical, and she stood still rather awestruck and intrigued by the cluttered mess that had order in the disorder or at least she thought so. Barely she heard his last question, and she answered that with a nod, and then a  “Yes, multiple languages including Gnomish, and only because I caught one as a child and kept it as a pet. Mother was ever so vexed.”  Her voice trailed off into silence as she demurely looked at him.<br/><br/>“I'm sorry, I do prattle at times.” She said, recalling what the Archmage said in the garden earlier. She gave him a quaint shy smile as her fingertips caressed a book on demons.<br/><br/>