Sympathy for the Devil

"Everyone is quick, eager even, to presume that they know much of my siblings and I, though they'd be quite mistaken," a raspy voiced man avowed. "Indeed, I am not the protagonist of this story, but does this fact alone justify my crucifixion? To oppose does not make one a villain, a devil, nor a beast. It simply makes one...misunderstood. And as history has proven time and time over, men fear that which they do not understand. This is my attempt to paint a clearer picture, a masterpiece even, of what is, and what isn't."

"That's...definitely interesting," a brunette woman admitted, each of her limbs shackled and chained to a somber oubliette wall. "...Um, but you know that I didn't study psychiatry at Brakebills, right?"

Scraping his hands through his pristine strands of salt and pepper-colored hair, he looked down at her and smiled.

"Ah, Victoria, of course, but since you've been here, I've not once stopped by your lovely boudoir for tea," the raspy voiced man joked, pacing the room with his hands tucked behind his back. "Jane and I used to drink tea and eat crumpets all the time, you know? But, by all means, if you've got some other appointment, do tell. I'd hate to tie you up."

"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LET ME GO, MARTIN? HAVENT I BEEN HERE LONG ENOUGH?" she screamed, persistently rattling her chains.

Martin crouched down, squaring his face with hers, until the tip of his nose slightly brushed her cheek.

"Let you go? Why on earth would I do that?" He tightened the muscles in his legs, pushing off the ground in an effort to resume his pacing. "Victoria, dear, we've already discussed this matter. Don't you remember? I'm not the cruel man that you children make me out to be."

"Then why am I here?"

"Simple really. If you were not here, then you would be there, at the university, and it is there that you would meet Quentin Coldwater."

Victoria dropped the excess chains that she'd previously wrapped her around her hands.

"Why can't I meet him?" she asked

"Because," he continued. "If you ever met Mr. Coldwater, then—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

"You know, it's probably better if I show you."

Martin began furiously weaving each of his twelve fingers, producing a viridescent aura of light that expanded from his fingers, until it engulfed the entirety of the room.

"Where are we?" Victoria asked, looking around at the green acres that surrounded them.

Martin pointed at the three figures up ahead. "Why don't you take a look. It's quite alright, they cannot see us. They are merely the result of Deinceps Borealis... but, from the puzzled expression on your face, I can tell that you were not at Brakebills long enough to have learned this spell. So-"

Martin, extending both of his arms, faced his palms outward, touching the tips of his middle fingers, to his thumbs, to create a murky sphere of smoke.

"Deinceps Borealis, is a foreshadowing spell, much too complex for the average magician, hence these," he bragged, bending the extra digits of his hands.

"So, why don't we share this cinematic moment," he said, raising his elbow, tilting his head, as if gesturing for her to grab on.

The two walked forward together, to get a clearer view.

"Mommy, Mommy, look what I can do."

"No! Look at me first, Mom!"

Two children, one a boy with two missing front teeth and brunette hair, and the other, a girl in her teens, circled around a pale, thin woman, her auburn hair pulled back in a wavy bunch.