Wrapping around Owain turned into more of an ordeal than she could have imagined. He wasn't resisting her, it was the opposite. To her frustration, every time she made contact with him, his magic welcomed her and his 'self' tried to do the same. She pulled away with an angry huff, and gathered herself back into a physical shape in front of Owain.

"Not very good with your magic yet?" Owain asked, giving her a lopsided grin when she glared up at him. 

"Yes, well, I've not exactly had any training thank you. It would help if you could, at least try to keep me out of your inner soul." She worried her left thumb between her right thumb and forefinger, Owain didn't look even a little apologetic.

"I don't know how to do that." He replied.

"I know! I know, you don't," She grumbled, "That's probably why you're so tangled up. Who lets in someone they don't even trust so easily?" Owain frowned.

"I trust you." He said, she wrinkled her nose.

"You were just threatening me. You don't know me."

"Hm, but you cried in front of me. With snot and everything." Owain reached out and pinched her nose. She flinched away from his hand and looked away from him. Her ears were probably red, which was frustrating, because the last thing she wanted was for another noble lord to think she was interested in him. But he didn't try to reach out for her again, and she was able to relax a little.

"Yes, and feel free to forget about that. Don't trust people just because they cry, you fool. Come on, we're going to have to look around." She mumbled and started walking. Owain followed after her easily, and she marveled at how suddenly he had gone from distrustful to unquestioning companion. 

"What's the point? I've been walking around the entire time I've been here. It's just, a labyrinth. And it burns any time I touch it." He explained, easily matching her shorter strides but, she noticed, making sure not to outpace her. 

"It burns you?" She asked, he nodded. "It doesn't burn me. Although it is terrifying. I got lost in the magic this thing is made from, before I came here." She mused, reaching out and running her hands along the metallic surface again. Owain shuddered, but didn't try to lunge at her this time. 

"That's why you were trying to carry me. So what are we doing now?" He asked, looking around as if trying to find what she was seeking. 

"Honestly, I don't know. But nothing will happen if we just stand around, if I can't carry you out then maybe we'll find another way." She reasoned, pinching her thumb again and keeping herself attuned to the incredible amount of magic around her. It felt like he was probably right though, she couldn't sense any change in the state of magic no matter where they walked. 

"You really aren't a very good witch are you?" Owain asked after they'd been walking for what felt like an hour. Reverie wasn't certain whether they'd gone anywhere new or were just going in circles. She scowled at him.

"A witch? That's a bit much, don't you think?" She groused, witches tended to be half wild after lifetimes of living alone with their power in the wilderness. Often they were those gifted in magic, who hadn't been taken in by the Sorcellerie, usually women.  

"What else would you be? You've got Whispered magic, but you're not wearing the robes from the temple in the Eawood. So, you're a witch." He reasoned, stopping when she did to glare at him. She wanted to hit him when he grinned down at her.

"I'm not a witch. I'm from the Garden, not the wilderness. And how would you know anything about the Eawood?" Reverie bristled and furrowed her brow. Owain squinted back at her.

"The Garden?" He asked, ignoring her question. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, the Garden." She said, walking again. Owain hesitated before following after her.

"Is that why you talk like that?" He asked eventually.

"Like what?" Owain groaned and glared at her. She kept herself from smirking and waited for him to answer her.

"Oh, you know how! Like you're trying to get me to do something. It's how women in court talk too. Weird hearing it from a little girl though."  He repeated what he'd said before, and this time Reverie decided to respond.

"Yes, that's why I talk that way. It's how any woman relying on a man's goodwill learns to talk. And I'm not a child, Young Master." She spat, and refused to look away when their eyes met. There was no judgement on his face, not even pity like his father had shown her, just innocent curiosity.

"You sound like Alvise," Owain said, "And what are you then? Not a witch, not a child, not a woman either though. Ah! A baby?" Owain was joking, Reverie knew that. But she didn't feel like biting her tongue.

"And why am I not a woman?" She asked. He snickered.

"How old are you? Fourteen, fifteen? You're too young to be a woman." He was matter of fact about it, and Reverie pursed her lips.

"But Marcel, he's a man? We're the same age." She argued. Owain hummed.

"Marcel's a man because of what he's experienced, not his age. And how do you know how old he is?" He asked, looking at her as they walked. Reverie tensed momentarily, before remembering that he didn’t know she'd seen them.

"I saw him, his body, I saw both of you. I could tell." She lied. 

"Ah." Was all he said. They were quiet for a long time, while Reverie stewed.

"You don't know anything about me, or the experiences I've had, don't call me a child." She eventually said, looking straight forward even when he turned his head to look at her. 

"I'm not talking about taking a lover." Owain clarified. She clenched her hands into fists, and still refused to look at him.

"Neither am I." She was practically whispering when she said it. Owain was staring hard at the side of her face, and just as she was about to give in and look at him, the walls began to move.