“Oh…Feels strange to be calm. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t stressed…” he stumbled around a little before bumping into Safira.

He blinked slowly, frowning a little, “…I’m not a god or spirit, I’m an elf. Huh…? An angel? What’s an angel?”

Thistle scrunched his face up, leaning away, “Ugh! What… was that….?”

Thistle blinked slowly as whatever it was kicked in, swaying a little.

“I feel… weird…floaty…What did you to me…?” He clumsily rubbed his eyes, his youthfullness more pronounced in his woozy state.

“What?! It isn’t working. I’m not in my dungeon anymore. What is this place? Send me back!” he clutched the book to his chest, chewing on his thumb until it stained his teeth red, ears anxiously flattened to his head. He tried to cast a teleportation spell to get back, but it didn’t work.

He gave a soft laugh.

"I know. Thank you."

"Well if it will get me answers. How do we do that?"

“What? That makes no sense. ‘You can resist a spell but you can’t resist love’ what do you even mean by that? That people can be forced to love you? That you can just not get blown up by an explosion spell if you love hard enough? What?”

He looked around wildly as the surroundings changed, “What—!”

"Sounds a little extreme... Been having dreams about this guy with pink hair... Usually someone magic sensitive having the same dreams is bad..."

"True. ...Hey, you know magic, right? Anything that can help analyze a reoccurring dream?"

"Their own sick thrill... Some record it trying to get famous. It's gross..."

“Why should I listen to you when you are clearly not listening to me? HEY—!” he ducked away when the reaper patted him on the head, “Don’t TOUCH me.”

He clawed at his scalp.

“You are not allowed to touch me!”