Fortunately, said destination isn't far away at all. Trailing blue and red light from his gauntlets and an odd, scarcely audible ringing sound, he even manages to avoid parading her down any high streets, keeping to alleys and backstreets and remaining in some shade or other the entire time. Though, if asked, he'd say it was simply the most direct route to his home.

'Home,' in this case, being a large manor house not far outside the town itself, a solid-looking edifice with vast gardens and tree-lined paths leading to the front door. Fortunately said door is quite large and the bubble fits through easily.

The place seems oddly empty, though not abandoned--the floors are scrubbed and no dust lingers on anything. And the subtle scents of everyday life permeate the place. Azwel makes his way up the stairs, and another detail becomes evident--there is no natural light anywhere in this place. Heavy curtains have been drawn over all the windows and all manner of oil and tallow-burning objects glow in every nook and cranny.

It'd seem considerate under any other circumstance.

At the end of a corridor they reach a room with a heavy wooden door. He steps in and brings the bubble with him, and she can see that it's a sprawling boudoir, with a lush bed, heavy curtains over the large windows, and doors leading to other things. He stops and turns to look at her.

A clever sorcerer he may be, but not an infinitely powerful one. The strain is telling on him--he breathes heavily and a sheen of sweat stands out on his ashen face.

"This suite of rooms is yours," he says. "But, clearly, it is one you cannot leave. There are things I must attend to, so I will leave you he--" he breaks off as he feels something hot trickle from his nose. His hand flies to his face and his eyes go wide. Instantly he runs, slams the door shut, locks it....

And then the bubble pops, dropping her a whole seven inches to the floor.