Ryou could feel now—feel the prickles and crackles of energy at his fingertips. His snow-white eyelashes fluttered as the heat rose to his face, giving him an eerie glow, sticking out with thin cheekbones and an aristocratic nose. It caught in his eyes, as though the embers of Muspelheim had crawled to melt with the warm chocolate of his irises.

"Keep going, don't be frightened."

"What if it burns?"

"It won't. Keep going."

Eyebrows furrowed with avid concentration. He could not hide his excitement, despite the fear that ran fingers along his neck. It was only his third exposure to the magic that his ghost had spoken so highly of. Ryou had often been an observer, watching from the quiet shadows in his own mind, contemplating. Then, very curiously, the menacing shadow offered his hand, gently reaching out with willowy fingers and insidious mirth. "Would you like to try?" He had asked, almost too sweetly. It stuck oddly to the roof of his mouth, lips cracked and dry. Ryou had answered with a simple nod of approval, though distrusting of the parasite's intentions.

Ryou was careful, placing the stones just so, adding the ingredients to the small basin as if it would be submerged in flame within the second. His fingers were dirty and warn, covered in herbs and pollen and soot. The awkwardness of the silence becoming comforting, with only a few instructions, a few noises of encouragement.

"Like this?"

"Perfect."