"How much are you willing to part with?” He asks, sliding a finger through your hair.
Swallowing, you take a step back, but the room seems to become smaller as he closes the new distance. “W-what do you mean?” You ask, blinking far too fast to even fake confidence. If he could smell weakness, you’d be burning his nose.
“It’s not an easy process, you know. It’s tedious.” He says, with a smile stretching his face. “First, I have to find the ingredients,” He points to the rack of bottles behind you, “Then I have to mix everything together, and some of those ingredients are poisonous. George’s root? It’s a nasty little thing, it gives you warts-”
"I’ll do it,” You butt in, thinking he’d at least have the heart to step back. Unmoving, He presses a finger on your lips, “I wasn’t done Kitten.” You mumble a muffled sorry.
"You can’t do it,” He says with a hint of seriousness that causes your blood to still. You wouldn’t be so..so scared if he wasn’t so close and if his eyes were a normal colour for starters. Who in the world has yellow eyes? “You wanna know why?” he continues.
You really don’t, but in this situation, it’d seemed right to nod. He could kill you easily. A quick slice of the neck or a hurried mumble of some spell, you would been ash in no time and swept away by a simple flick of broom.
“Because you don’t have The Book,” at the mention of ‘The Book’, a flash of purple runs through his irises and from the corner of your eye you can see pages of large book fluttering as if a large gust of wind has just entered. “And only I can use The Book, you can’t. If you happen to use it, I can’t guarantee your life.”
Finally, he moves his finger and much to your disgust or horror, he swipes it across the collar of his jacket. it wasn’t as if you forced him to slap his finger across your mouth! the nerve! but what would you expect from a man who lives alone in the forest, manners yes, but social cues, of course not.
"Anyways, what are you willing to give me?” His eyes pierce into yours as if he was looking into your deepest and darkest secrets, those which you rather die with than let anyone know.
What were you willing to give him? Your voice? but he wasn’t Ursula and it wasn’t as if you had the voice of Celine Dion; it was more like a chicken. Maybe it was your body….no. Anything but that. But what if it was what he wanted. As your thoughts derailed into things unimaginable you could feel the blood rushing to your face.
You can’t bare to look him anymore, considering how close he was, you could see every pore dotted across his clear face. “I’ve got money,” You say.
As if fueled by your nervousness, his grin grows bigger and deep chuckles burst from within him. “Money? not that useless thing!” He says, “I need something more, something worth so much more. Every jack and jill has money. Kitten, what I want isn’t material.”