She is just as beautiful as I remember: her dark oval eyes, Egyptian skin, and long black hair. But there is a difference. In her hair there are long streaks of red. My smile is cold, “I see you have found a man fitting to your taste.”
“I have.”
“And he is no Sand Man, no; he is a mortal with orange hair.”
“Him not being a Sand Man does not make him mortal.”
I smile, “But you are torn between your desert and himself, He must be of the sand for you to be happy.”
“He will be.”
“And does he agree? Does he wish to become this? For he will not be able to stay with his old friends, he will have to leave his old life behind”
“He will not, I may dwell with your and his people, so shall he will.”
“A painful process no doubt, as I have heard; But you do not answer me, does he know and agree and wish to become this?”
“He knows not.”
I begin to speak but she interrupts, “But he will, I merely do not wish to give him false hope, when I cannot yet perform this Magic, but when I can, He will agree.“