Fine Control

"How adorable. You're worried about my growth," Laemno sneered.

Nysa scowled at his taunt. "A subpar magus can hardly make a good informant in Sethia."

"I shall take this to heart, then."

He smothered the intrusive thoughts clouding his wits, entering a trance-like state reminiscent of his near-stumble into madness several minutes ago.

An ashen tapestry of glimmering threads appeared before him, and he realized that it answered every mental command, whether conscious or unconscious.

It shifted as smoothly as the connection of wordless notions and concepts in his brain, instantly taking whatever shape, texture, smell, and sound he wished.

He sculpted it to the likeness of Nysa's Mana imprint, inexplicably controlling it like one would move his hand without knowing exactly how.

When his vacant eyes regained their grasp on reality, Laemno found a familiar, greenish haze coating his hands.