Whatever I want in all of the world could be mine with a simple click. A twitch of a muscle will press flesh to trigger, action to history, desire to fruition.
The offer is hard to refuse at the face of the usher. He possesses a secret hidden in the fold of his eyes. A simple crease maps out a limitless atlas of potential.
The page descends. His hand relaxes, untwists his grip on the greatest gift of all. The glint of nail casts sparks of light against the shadowed cloak.
And yet I do not relinquish. Could it truly be there? Could it come from this? The offer falls, picking up speed as every second passes before my eyes. The breath quickens, exhausting time on his face, in his mind, his generosity. The echo begins to fade, strike one, two, three clicks from my finger.
Four, five, six lights descend from his hand, his fingers, glowing across my face, my neck, around his cloak. Seven, eight, nine pulses open up the eye. Ten blinks to focus on his contract. Eleven wishes for brevity. Twelve.
The deal is done.
He takes his fee.
My leave is left.
