The light shown on Anya’s fingers.It curled around her palm and danced.
This, she thought, was the sheer
pleasure of having magic. But in the midst of her play, a shadow
grew.It was not unexpected; it was the
cost of doing magic, for it always begot shadows.But it never ceased to offer discomfort.If she could find a way to practice her craft
and leave behind the adjacent darkness, she would.Anya was not fond of the dark, or shadows, or
of the sense of unease that grew whenever she let the flickering brightness
dance. But, too, there was a feeling of
wholeness in her work.How could that
be, such fulfillment when darkness lay about her?A constant wonder—the weight of it only born
by extinguishing the light for a time until she could bear it again. Today was such a time.Anya took the light, and threw it at the darkness.The next breath, and it was gone. Elimination brought palpable relief, while at
the same time she felt the loss of brightness acutely. These feelings, this
tumult of emotions…