the evil eye has done its work;

 Luckily, Aleister was not cursed with Mordreaux’ mindreading, and very easily distracted. Uwe was freely admitting he was of the enemy, here, stuck in a shack with a mage who’d happily play his mind like a violin until he was foaming at the mouth and curled into a ball in a corner of the shack.

Instead, the old woman pulled Aleisters’ mind in like a strong current, and all thoughts of Uwe were lost. His anxiety had gone as she closed in, and he could feel her hands on his cheeks.

His actual face. Not the eye.

His focus was not on her words, but on that brief, fleeting feeling he’d forgotten entirely. No one could touch him, his curse made sure of it, but as soon as her words landed the feeling was gone. And so was she.
It almost seems as if it’s lighter inside, as if time went back an hour and the sun had decided it wasn’t bedtime yet after all.
He took note of the name written in the wood, per chance something he might remember, before Uwe came to his attention again.

The little order mage, now in his territory.

Briefly his earlier plan bubbled up into memory, even if it was hard to imagine this man having anything to do with the blatant hunting on wild mages. Instead, he exhaled, and turned to the door to get outside. As promised, he hadn’t planned on spending one more minute longer inside than was necessary.

Outside was silent. He’d almost forgotten there had been problems to begin with; he just wanted out. But the wights were gone, it was just Mordreaux. With the book. “Oh, good. Looks like you solved the problem, hm?” Had Mord not, Al might’ve reconsidered setting it in fire after all.