"Oh, just look how far you've come," Thron said, patting my cheek fondly. "You've gone and become a ninth-level mage, I see. And your hair! It's grown so long and beautiful."
He ran a hand through my hair, letting it rest on my back. I squeezed him tighter, sniffling and shivering, hardly daring to breathe. If I did, I might just wake up and find that none of this was real.
"You must be, what, fifteen? Sixteen years old now?" he asked, drawing back to give me a good, scrutinizing look.
I shifted, clasping my hands in my skirt. "S-something like that, I think."
"You've developed into a fine young woman. Still with your manners, I see." He chuckled, his eyes crinkling with warmth. "I can't remember the last time I heard of a ninth-level mage greeting an old man like me with such affection. Most would expect me to bow before them."
