Magia didn't like people. By any definition, Magia was a misanthrope of the worst degree. She believed all sentient beings were disgusting horrors that should be razed off the face of the earth. Magia was by no means exempt from that policy. If anything, Magia was the worst offender, in her own mind. The only thing stopping her from a gory self-inflicted death was that ineffable idea that, if she killed herself, someone else would be winning.
No one beat Magia that easily. She would bring down heaven and hell before she let any of the people who she could conceive as the "winners" enjoy their victory.
That being said, Magia did like mentoring. Liked it a lot. Perhaps it was the nearly absolute power she held over another being, or maybe it was because Magia had always had a soft spot for children. (Most everyone was a child in comparison with her, though there were a few at Evercrest who did exceed her age.) Maybe it was that burning desire to show what she knew. It was so incredibly satisfying to be understood in full. Every trick analyzed precisely for how truly precise and incredible it really was.
And those she taught of course were forced to identify how powerful and skilled Magia was, par for course.
So Magia couldn't say she hated her shitfuck of a wastrel student, no matter how infuriating they were. Magia knew she just hated seeing someone so similar to her be so very different.
So very wrong. She'd correct them the best she could. That was her job as a mentor after all.
And of course, in the people Magia could say, categorically, that she "liked", though perhaps "tolerated" or "found amusing" were better phrasings, was Constance Dreamweaver.
Her old mentor. The first among a small handful of people who recognized that Magia was once the stage magician Miss Marvelous. Magia had been right, during her exam. She had seen Constance somewhere before. She had seen her in the audience of her earlier shows. In fact, Constance and her family had been one of the few privileged to get a back stage tour. Mostly because everyone who knew anything at the time was saying that Mrs. Hund and her husband were far too important to be allowed to leave with just seeing the show like everyone else.
Magia, at the time, had just been happy to meet someone who said their magic was stunning, technically and visually. Magia had also gotten to hold the small elf baby that had been with them at the time. She missed the happiness she used to feel from that. It had been drowned in too many bad memories. Holding a kid now, Magia half-thought she would break its little neck to protect it from this awful, awful world it had been born in.
Magia found herself stopping before the entrance to the eyrie. It hadn't been difficult to guess where they were going to be holding this little soiree. After all, there was no where better suited to the magnificence of Magia and Constance but a place well above the clouds.
She considered for a moment.
With a gentle motion, Magia removed the mask from her face. One watching her would have felt a little disappointed to discover that Magia was wearing a visor beneath that mask. The kind of visor that covered at least half her face, completely black and smooth like glass. One could, however, see her lips and her small nose which sat in the crevice between two rounded rectangular frames. A strange sight in these times, where Magia despised even a glance at her own face.
But there were likely to be no mirrors. And Constance merited something other than the hard bone her usual mask. Something more personal. A small acknowledgement of the years they spent together, the knowledge they held of each other. Secret, hated knowledge. Constance had a husband. Magia was Miss Marvelous.
Whispers of the past that sought to shatter them both in the present.
"Iziga n'ụlọ", the spell felt rusty on her lips. She didn't particularly like using spoken magic. Magia did not deal in displays of power, she dealt in finesse. But here, it was necessary, and there was no one watching. The bone mask, enveloped in her power, glowed slightly. For a moment it looked like it was bending, warping, and then it was gone. Back to the place on the wall in her room where it hung, surrounded by its brethren.
She liked to picture them there, faces hanging in the dark. Like the visages of the dead and damned watching over her sleep.
The eyrie was technically outside, and Magia had planned accordingly. She was dressed in the usual, cleanly pressed and lined suit. However, as it was Constance Magia was about to meet with, the suit was a dire red. From the suit pants that ended above ankle-cut, high-heeled boots like the sun at dawn, to the fitted waistcoat in a lavish scarlet. She wore a white dress shirt, as always, button to the very top and tied with a neck accessory. This time, she'd chosen a silken scarf, tied in a loose ascot fashion.
The jacket was gathered at the back, creating a flare about her hips that perhaps tried to compensate for the lack of curve but rather more emphasized the severity of her figure. It fell in crisp, understated ruffles in an arch across her backside.
Her hair had been wrangled into an elegant bun high on her head, with small red pins sticking out were more for decoration than to hold the style in place. She had allowed two locks to hang against either side of her head, tucked behind her ears like backdrops for the golden charms hanging there that reached down but never quite brushed each red shoulder.
A crimson double-breasted pea coat hung over her shoulders, creating a more dynamic silhouette than she could normally cut with her thin physique.
All in all, Magia was a flash of red like blood spatter in the air.
The sharp silhouette, she thought, matched the cold, slicing air rather nicely as she walked through the eyrie, heel clicks echoing faintly.
Constance and her tea set, perfectly placed on an elaborate table sitting between two thrones, came into view.
Magia considered the beautiful tea set. A true masterpiece, one that probably cost Constance a fortune. Neither woman was prone to hanging on to their money. With so much to spare, they both adored lavishing gifts on themselves (and sometimes each other; as student and mentor, Magia and Constance had had several dozen, maybe hundred, paired outfits of exceeding class and price).
Constance herself was a gorgeous masterpiece. Complete with a bejeweled tiara atop her blonde locks. Seated in that throne of a chair, surrounded in resplendence, Constance was like the vision a master painted struggled his whole life to capture in thousands of images but never could. She was a ray of of sunlight, like that above them, and she glowed in the warmth of the magic that lit the room. Golden gloves, golden eyeshadow, highlighting the beauty of her hair and skin.
Magia was impressed that they had chosen matching outfits without any coordination. It was one of those little things that made the world seem like it was trying to suck up to her and say it was sorry.
Well, tough shit. No sympathy from Magia. It was still gonna burn.
Magia considered the whole tableau, the tea set and the gorgeous woman and the whole, entire thing high in the sky with clouds drifting lazily below them. She gestured with one red gloved hand to the entire affair.
"Gay," Magia commented, face blank. The whole setup, or herself, the comment really could have been a reply to anything.
But it was mostly in reply to the fact that those tea sets really reminded Magia of the sorcerer class head, Kalall. One of Constance's...friends? Friends in the way that Magia and she were friends perhaps in that it probably wasn't a good idea, but it just was anyway.