*Author's Note: Any and all person's engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
"Daddy, will you come read me a story?" Tina asked as she peered into the living room.
"What?" Burt looked up from the news.
"Will you come..." his eighteen year old daughter repeated.
"Tina, for God's sake, you're eighteen years old; aren't you a little too old for such foolishness?" Burt asked.
"Sin! Sinclair! Where the hell is that boy at?"
The Master's younger son stood in the doorway with a scowl twisting his handsome face as he looked for the slave, but the beautiful young man wasn't among the servants and slaves hard at work in the kitchen. Stepping into the room, he cut a path straight to the head cook, ignoring the scurrying men and women darting around him as they went about the frantic preparations for the evening meal—as lower servants and slaves, they were beneath his notice.
"There is, of course, the tale of the man who built a horse of ebony that flew through the air with its rider—"
"We've heard that one already. What about the tale of the three Sufi Qalandars who were each the sons of kings and also each blind in one eye?"
"That one was as old as a dried date when my father was a boy. If you want to hear a truly wondrous story, listen to me recount the tale of the rich man who bought a mermaid as his concubine only to discover—"
They say that gold is power, but "they" are mostly male, and thus idiots.
On the day she decided to stop living on goodwill and bland virtue, instead using her power for its hell-intended purpose, the witch did not begin dabbling in alchemy. After all, what do men pay gold for? Surely that's more powerful.