Arrow Lake ou l'Optimisme

A seer. Intriguing, still, but his respect for her drops tenfold. Seers and witches, mages, con-artists....all peddling their contrived bullshit. It always comes with a price. And why would he pay for a vision of the future when he alone has the power to determine it?

He scoffs at her second remark, the fur along his spine lifting slightly at the feel of her breath against his cheek. Non. I am ageless, Donatien replies, ever cheeky. He does a small shuffle away, a tiny dance, and gives her a sidelong glance. I do not zink it's such a personal question.

The corners of his mouth lift, stretch, teeth gleaming in a feral smile. You flaunt zese scars. Otherwise you would have sought healing. 

The real magicians were the medics, repairing broken bones and battered flesh. They could have helped her. But this seer, like all the others, took dreams and visions and spun them into something of use, but only to her. Only to her.

He is the master of his fate, and this pale bitch knows nothing of it.