[i]What’s wrong with here?[/i] she thought, exhaling through her nose, but she dared not voice the complaint. When he left the room, Izzy hurried after him at a consistent jog. She had expected Cerasus to head to the front door, but instead they ascended through the building.
	Realizing what Cerasus was looking for, she opened her mouth and pointed toward where the stairs to the roof were, but he had already stepped into a classroom. She went after him, catching the door before it swung closed on squeaky hinges.
	“The stairs are just--” Her words cut off with a gasp and she stepped away as a portion of the ceiling blew apart with no more than a glare from him. She leaned her weight heavily on the door frame, her fingers digging into it as the residue of his energy exertion flowed over her, making her shudder, and debris of the ceiling rained down on Cerasus, apparently no more of an irritation than the afternoon drizzle had been for her.
	She watched with fearful awe, a knot forming in her stomach, as a pair of wings spread out from his back, making him look that much more like a creature of the night, like the king of darkness itself.
	“Show off,” she muttered, trying to sound teasing, to lighten the atmosphere, if even by a fraction, but her voice shook.
	She did not bother trying to mimic his transformation.
	[i]Steady, legs,[/i] she thought, prying her fingers from the door frame. She ran into the room and jumped up through the hole after Cerasus, hoping he was not expecting her to follow on wings. She landed catlike on the roof, then straightened and looked around for him. Thankfully, he had not taken off from the roof, situating himself not far from his self-made exit. 
	With his back to her and his posture an almost human one, he looked less menacing. But the waves of power that rolled form him warned her otherwise, made her feel like a pathetic excuse of an existence, an existence bound to serve the likes of him, to attend to his every whim. He was a statue carved from the finest marble and formed by the hands of the most talented of sculptors, while she was little more than a mound of playdough squeezed into a messy blob by the hands of a toddler.
	The knot in her stomach tightened painfully. She looked to the rooftop, scrunched her eyes shut, and formed her hands into tight fists as she shook her head in an attempt at expelling the thought and feeling.
	[i]I am [u]not[/u] his servant,[/i] she told herself, holding her breath, her mental voice growing stronger as she continued. [i]I’m [u]not[/u] his thrall. And I am [u]not[/u] inferior to him![/i]
	She glanced up when she heard Cerasus’ voice, flinching when she noticed him looking at her. She shook her head at his question, sure he already knew the answer. The overwhelming urge to do as he requested made her walk toward him, but she refused to let him have that much power over her. Though there was plenty of space beside Cerasus where the fencing had fallen, she went to where a portion of it still clung to the rooftop a few feet away and gripped a part of the rusty railing.
	“I’d rather stand, thanks,” she said, her voice stiffer and quieter than she would have liked. She tried to keep her posture straight and confident, and expression impassive, not wanting to show him how strong of an effect just his mere presence had on her.
	She let silence fall around them for a short moment, trying to steady her nerves, before taking a deep breath.
	“What did you want to talk about?” she asked without looking to him, the hollow bar beginning to cave in beneath her grip.