Morpheus had always possessed the upper hand when it came to the use of magic, and that alone had long troubled Arabella. His precision, his confidence, and the way he molded the air itself to his will had made him nearly untouchable. Every time she had crossed paths with him, the difference in their mastery had been glaring; she was capable, yes, but he was terrifyingly effortless. And that difference had always defined their encounters, forcing her to rely on her cunning more than her strength.
But if he were to turn into a demon… the scales might finally shift.
A demon's power was brutish, unrefined— more instinct than art. He would be granted a body enhanced beyond human limits, strength that could crush walls and senses that could track prey in darkness. But he would lose his grace, the delicate agility of a magician who knew every pulse of his magic. That kind of power came at the cost of control.
