"Look, Mark. You're a nice guy and all, but maybe you should go - I don't know, see someone?"
He sighed in exasperation. "I'm not crazy, Clark. I'm a whitelighter."
"Uh-huh,"I replied skeptically, tone flat. "And what, pray tell, is a whitelighter?"
"It's like a guardian angel. And Clark, I'm your guardian angel."
I took a step away from him and opened the door, gesturing for him to leave. "Mark, I really think you should go."
"Dammit, Clark, listen to me!" He stepped rapidly toward me, gripping my upperarms.
"But what you're saying is insane! I'm not a - a -" I paused, the thought too ridiculous to even come out of my mouth. I mean, how often in day-to-day life did someone decide to reveal to you that they happened to be your guardian angel and that you were a -
"You are a witch!"