[He scoffs, an echoing noise. That's a portent of its own, indicative of Stephen's own state, lacking patience and unwilling to blunt his words. Even if she is dousing his domain in darkness, circling around him like some dread shadow.]

You care about my opinion? Flattering.

[Stephen raises his hands in an attempt to summon up his own magic; Eldritch spellwork is light-based at its core, and should work to ward off all this darkness, but his gestures are unsteady. His magic does not come to him, only small sparks fizzling out at his fingertips.

Frustration billows, gnaws at his stomach.]

Where should I start? I think your magic reflects you more than it should. Impulsive, emotional, something bursting at the seams, waiting to be released.

[He drops his hands, hard eyes trying to track her movements.]

And in just the wrong circumstances? Dangerous. Is that what you're trying to prove to me now?