Sunlight strikes stained glass, fragmented patterns birling across mosaic tiles. Light dances over intricate designs, all organic, geometric, balanced.
“I love an old church,” I croak, throat long unused. “Such delightful corruption.”
“You have made a terrible mistake.” I am not sure the wildling in the wings understands my tongue.
“As summoner, I command you…” Latin roots hide in a dreadful language.
I remember it and switch. “Alas, pet, you’ve mixed it up.”
Little bird tastes fear. “The grimoire said…”
“Ancient tomes aren’t infallible.”
Ignorance is not excuse. It is invitation.
She screams as I make her my creature.