The Fragmented Thoughts of a Mage in Battle
Or, why it doesn't do to mess with wax
Kitty Ryan, 2003
Note: Back to Numair, now, though at a rather different age.
Glow, candle, glow
Catch on for me, and sparkle.
Flicker orange, with blue inside,
Like creations of your kind
Are meant to do.
You hear that, oh enemy made of wax?
As embarrassing as it is,
I've been forced,
To speak,
To you.
Candle, I know you're not stupid.
You're far too evil for that.
Give off a little heat, why don't you?
A smidge of light.
Don't turn purple, black or green.
It can't be so hard,
To so small a thing.
You melt easily enough,
You stain a desk I'm meant to keep clean.
You distort,
You shrink,
You grow.
You spray in strawberry-scented droplets,
And yesterday, you decided to explode.
Congratulations, on having talents.
For an inanimate object
You've done very, very well.
Too well.
Enough is enough
So, candle,
If you're listening to me
Here's the deal:
Less is more, you hear?
I,
Arram Draper
Who will be a Great Mage,
One day,
(Someday?
Possibly Monday, if Master Lindhall has his way)
Will not use his untrained,
Black-and-white
White-and-black
Singularly frustrating
Magic
To obliterate all of your waxen kind,
If you promise to glow for me,
Just this once,
So I can pass my exam,
Today.
Glow, candle.
Glow.