She awoke in sweat and instinctively reached for her nightstand. Murmuring as she stood, hands shaking, she grasped a cigarette from its box and lit it with an ease only habit could give. Smoke rose into the air as she brought it to her lips.

She listened quietly, elven ears twitching and easily picking up the sound of the surrounding mana humming, calming her as she momentarily watched the heat of the flames dance from both her cigarette and lighter.

“You really shouldn’t smoke,” A voice called out to her.

She turned her head to the bed. Her companion had woken up. At the bare minimum, he looked no older than twenty-three or so. His chest was uncovered, bare and fit, and his chestnut hair ruffled. He looked at her with a concerning gaze of gold and she smiled, flipping the lighter close and blowing smoke into the air.

“What’s the harm?” She asked, shrugging as blonde hair flowed behind her and she sat upon the bed. “Cancer’s long eradicated and besides, I’m an elf. If anyone’s to worry about diseases or harm, it’s certainly not me. So, got anything to slice through such a reasonable argument with that brain of yours?”

As always, she spoke with such a brazen eloquence, grinning softly like all things were in her grasp, that her name ‘Silent Witch’ could only be an antonym to her character.

He sighed. “It’s because you’re addicted to it. Too much of anything will bite you sooner or later.”

She laughed.

She was tens of years his senior yet he amused himself with her doings. She was 87, in the prime of her elven youth and he was 53—though human—also in his prime in the current world. Although they could be considered close in mental age when their species differences were taken into account, she never saw it that way.

He would always be a kid. The kid she lifted up with a hand and taught herself. The seventeen-year-old kid that decided to apprentice under her and made something of himself along the way. That kid who graduated at the top of his class and chose an elf of all things to be his mentor.

“It calms me,” She said, sighing as she glanced at the ceiling and smoke drifted from her lips. “You know that.”

She felt his hand grasp hers. His warmth mingled with her naturally cold skin. She turned to look at him and his eyes met her frigid azures.

“And that’s why I don’t want you to smoke,” He said, “You don’t need that to cope. I’m here for you. Let me be your shoulders.”

If she were to be honest, she would say her heart skipped a beat in that moment. He was handsome. He was charismatic. And he was one of the few people that could touch her toes. But honesty wasn’t her forte.

She recognized his feelings and though they sometimes did act like lovers, she would never take his hand. A relationship that deep with a human was not something she wanted. It would feel like betrayal.

She withdrew her hand and stood up. She was naked but she walked. He followed her with his eyes, her beauty shining in the faint luminescent light above the ceiling that had automatically become functional. Truly, her proportions were perfect. Nothing exaggerated, simply a form fitting for her and her alone. At one point, he had wondered if all elves were like that but that was untrue.

“I’m borrowing your car,” She said and left the room.

And, so, she walked.

The taste of rejection lingered in Thomas Melrose’s throat. He wanted to call after her but relinquished his arm back. Bitter, he sighed.

“Even after I became a Wizard, I’m no closer to her. . .” He shook his head.

Wizard Grey; an antonym to his chestnut-golden hair. Such a well-known name was but a kid in the eyes of his former mentor, the Silent Witch. He touched his forehead and frowned, then sighed again.

“Just what is going on, Bianca. . .” He mouthed.

As of late, she had been that way. Since he had picked her up, she had been that way. As if stuck in her own head, debating questions and worries he had no access to. Sure, he had come under her when he was 17 but, by now, he thought she would at least lean on him a little.

He sighed once more, finding himself quickly developing that habit, and stood from the bed.

“Vera,” He said, “Please prepare my coffee and breakfast.”

It took only a moment for a feminine, but purposefully robotic voice to answer back.

“Certainly, master.”

And thus, in that huge mansion, the AI creation swung to motion as the robotic automatons of the place began their work. The windows opened and light seeped in.

Thomas Melrose stared out, looking at the fake dome around his villa that made it appear as if he were situated by a crystal river. The grass all around was jaded green and the air fluttered with chirping birds. It was impossible to tell that he actually resided in a city of skyscrapers. It was the continual power of wealth and status. Yet, no matter how high he reached, he didn’t seem any closer to what he truly wanted.

In the distance, he watched his vehicle rise and pass through the sky of the place, blurring the atmosphere blue for a moment before fully breaking out as if swimming through the surface of water.

Perhaps, he thought, 15 years was but a snap of a finger to an elf.

“Vera, change my early morning location to the garden. Deliver my daily digest to its pad, as well.” He said, turning around. “And. . .”

He paused.

“Call Bellona for me as soon as I’m stationed there.”

A voice answered once more as the bracelet on his left hand blinked, “As you wish, master.”

As much as he disliked interacting with that woman—the Hideous Witch—if anyone could possibly crack into Bianca’s shell, it would be her previous roommate.