"Just stop whatever you're doing."

"I must check all these odd containers for any potential threat." The words flow out of his mouth. "I do not know what type of magic you humans dabble in."

Now it's my turn to simply stare at him.

I thought Thea was odd, but she certainly wasn't this level of crazy.

I attempt to get him to stop once more, but he ignores me and continues to check every single item on the vanity. Alas, after some time, he is done, and he moves away from that area. But I'm still in his arms!

"You can put me down, you know," I grumble.

He doesn't reply as he simply lets go of me.

Just. Like. That.

I yelp in pain as I fall down. Luckily, the carpet is fluffy enough to make it less painful, but the impact still jostles my bones.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I burst out, looking up at him belligerently.

He stares me down, his eyes narrowing.

"You asked me to put you down. I did."

"You dropped me," I point out.

"I put you down," he counters.

"Ugh!" I let out an annoyed huff. "You're not from around here, are you?"

His eyes narrow further.

"You're not from this place," I reiterate.

"I am not," he replies proudly, pushing his chin up.

His tone tells me he doesn't have the highest consideration for us humans.

"Why are you here anyway? And how did you get past the barrier?" I decide to change the subject since it's a chore to have a normal conversation with someone who cannot understand normal language—and who already sees me as a primitive human.

"I can get through any barrier," he immediately answers, a hint of indignation in his voice—as if he's insulted I'd even suggest otherwise.

"Right. Well, thank you for saving me from that demon," I reluctantly offer. No matter how odd his behavior might be, he did save my life.

"As you should," he replies smoothly.

I stare at him unblinkingly. He stares back, his expression puzzled. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes dipping from my face to my neck.

"You're bleeding," he states blankly.

Bringing my hand to my neck, I feel the wetness coat my fingers, together with particles of glitter. Although it doesn't hurt too much, there's quite a bit of blood.

He crouches in front of me, his shrewd eyes inspecting my wound. He looks at it from every angle, pursing his lips. Before I realize what he means to do, he pulls on the hem of my gown, ripping out two strips of material. Using the first one, he dabs at my neck, cleaning the wound. But he soon realizes that some of the glitter is not coming off, remaining stuck to my skin. The microparticles are abrasive enough that every time he wipes the fabric over my neck, I wince in pain.