I am a watcher. It is my life's work, keeping watch over mages, fledging and adept alike. It is in my very nature, what I have always been intended to be.
Some of the mages have learned to ignore me. Some are immune to my watchful gaze, the penetrating stare that is ever seeking the slightest moment of weakness, the minutest crack in their defenses. Others have learned to turn to distraction, pouring themselves into their work or their studies or finding more frivolous pursuits with which to fill their time.
There are always those who feel my presence though, the ones who slowly crack under the weight of my eyes. They pretend to be oblivious or uncaring, but I know better. I can feel it. They go mad, some more slowly than others. Some can ignore me for years, decades even, but I know it is only a matter of time. Just a period of waiting and watching before I can strike.
These are the ones I focus my efforts on. I do not waste my time with the others. They will not break and thus are not worthy of my time. There is no fun to be had in them.
No, it is the ones who quiver, visibly or not, that I relish. Even the smallest tremor is not hidden from my sight. I savor the fear, the uncertainty, the nightmares and the trembling. I treasure the measured footsteps and backward glances. One day they will slip and fall, and then they will be mine.
I find my greatest pleasure in those who confront me with bravado - some false, some merely foolhardy. They think they are stronger than I am. They think they are beyond my reach. Foolish mages. They will learn in time how mistaken they are and their despair in that moment is all the more sweet for their failure.
There are those who try to curry my favor, who see the potential in cooperation. They believe the friendship might be equal, that partnership is possible, that the benefits will be mutual. That some sense of honor or duty might stay my hand - nay, my hunger when the moment comes. They could not be more wrong.
That is the moment I exist for. The moment that makes the endless watching and waiting worthwhile. The despair in their eyes and in their hearts. Savoring the fear like a fine vintage on my palate. That glorious final moment before they are snuffed out, extinguished like so many flickering candle flames.
They think they are special, these mages. They believe their abilities set them apart, make them strong. But they will see how mistaken they were. They are nothing more than pawns in my game, prey to be stalked and taken. It is no matter that the hunt takes time. I am patient. Time is on my side. I will watch and wait for the day that they will be mine.
There are many watchers in this tower. Even the mages watch, suspicious of themselves and each other and the ones who have charge over them. And yet, for all their vigilance, they will slip and I will strike. Oh, they all watch, waiting for one such as I. They think themselves safe, that the wolf does not stalk amongst them. They know, of course, that my kind wait in their midst. They are not quite that stupid. They think themselves vigilant, and some days, they are. But that is merely part of the hunt, part of the game. And that is precisely how I like it.