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"Where are we going today? Oh, right, my mistake. "When", of course."
"I have an idea, my Faustus."
Snow-white marble, statues of gold, apples as crimson as blood.
"I bet I seduce Paris before you seduce Helen."
"That's unfair!" he argues. "You are omnipotent, and I am nothing but a dusty old scholar."
"I'll give you a head start," you smile, aware how pointless it is to waste your charm on your master instead of Paris.
You pass with your hands and Faustus changes into a glorious warrior in a shiny bronze armour (it's a bit too posh, naturally, but you both are just having fun, aren't you?)
Encouraged, he goes to Helen and starts a small talk. You follow him with your eyes, not giving a single try to get Paris's attention (you've learnt long ago how greedy the prince is for praise and how easy to manipulate). You are a little bored, but you are here for Faustus, so you keep looking casual and faking the pleasure of being at this feast of pride and wealth.
But what is it? Faustus looks as unimpressed by Helen as you are by this whole attire. He finds you in the crowd and waves.
"It was surprisingly dull. I'm starving."
"I hope you like another idea of mine much better."
Plenty of candles, cold walls covered with soot beyond recovery.
"You won't believe it, but this distasteful man is eating the last specimen of... I forgot how this bird is called, but you will certainly find its name in one of the volumes I brought you."
And you never read, you want to say, but you don't.
"And, by the way, you are invisible."
Faustus lights up like a child and runs to snatch the poor fried bird's leg right before it reaches the man's mouth.
"Do you know who he is?", your master asks, vacantly chewing and watching the gourmet panic.
"Does it really matter? Don't you like the taste enough?"
He laughs and finally swallows the meat. To your surprise, you sigh with relief as if you were afraid he would choke and die before his 24 years are due.
"It tastes just like duck. And too dry for my liking. So who is the man?"
You sigh again, this time with irritation.
"It's the Bishop of Something-upon-Something if that tells you anything."
And you know it doesn't because you see the same boredom in your master's eyes.
"May I suggest we do a trick?"
"What trick?"
"Let me say, a sparkling one."
Soft wind, greenery so bright it can hurt a human eye.
You magically provide a bottle of young wine from the cellar of the grapery by which you are standing. Faustus still has no clue what you have in mind.
Another gesture of yours and a small hole appears in the earth right next to Faustus's toes.
"Pay this bottle the respect it deserves, but don't say farewell, because soon we'll meet it again."
You bite your tongue to suppress the urge to make him fill the hole back with soil. Some exercise will only do him good, but still, he is your master. You wave your hand yet again and any evidence of your impact is gone.
You take Faustus's hand (and why does it feel queer all of a sudden?) and in a second you are in the same place, but everything is now yellow, and the plantation has distinctly expanded.
"Did you just... Make the wine old?"
"Yes," you say curtly and can't help but think that a nod would be quite enough.
"Can we... Why won't we... Let's..."
"Let's go home, my Faustus."
Books, books, books, dry air, pleasant familiarity.
"I need to show you something!" his speech isn't so slurred any more, but he stumbles over everything. He falls into his chair and starts foraging among his long forgotten papers. He hasn't touched them since he cut his hand that day, and you still can see blood on some sheets.
He urges you to look at the map he dug up, and you don't understand what he is trying to show you.
"Master, what is this?" you ask, and Faustus, however drunk, starts a lecture with the patience of a natural teacher.
You listen for hours. This is the Faustus whose soul you came to trade. The mind, the engagement, the inspiration and the lust for knowledge. This is the Faustus you fell for and the Faustus you've lost years ago. The only thing he cares about now is entertainment that fails to entertain him again and again.
You are sad and feel strange. Faustus hasn't got sober, not in the least, but you... You feel drunk too? Devils can't get drunk.
It's just the wine and self-persuasion, you tell yourself. Yet, these particular words don't persuade you a bit.
Then you notice that your master's head he's put on his hands a minute before is slowly sliding towards the desk. He keeps muttering and giving away precious insights that can change the world in a day. But all in all, the room is almost silent.
You gently shake him, and he stands up, half-awake, and follows you to his bedroom like a lamb.
You let him fall onto the bed in his clothes, and he immediately wraps himself up in the sheets.
You sink into an antique chair you brought him from Mesopotamia and settle on the cushions.
You desperately wish you could sleep too - the experience you've never had and never could have but witnessed so often. Obviously, you know that people dream, you've manipulated these moving images a thousand times, making people see what they desire most. But can you cast this spell on yourself?
Concentrating, you can hear Angels, both Good and Evil, but you laugh silently to yourself: they have nothing to do here any more, the Faustus they could influence is gone. This Faustus is lost to Heaven. But you hope, you hope so fiercely that he still isn't lost to you.
In a while, you manage to hypnotize yourself, so you start dreaming: what your life would be without Hell or Heaven, without your omnipotence. What it would be if you were a mortal scholar with another, dusty old scholar as the dearest friend.