"Histories are written by the victor?" Mitch coughed out and there was a bit more elegance in those words than before. Without the collar, Mitch could finally start to relax a little, well in some sense of the word. There was only so much anyone could relax when those who wanted to oppress them stood near. Mitch was calculative though and, in what could only be described as a power play, turned from Thaddeus, facing the bookshelf that was sparsely adorned. Running thin fingers along the spine it seemed as if the elf was thinking about this place and what captivity would once again mean. This left the two in silence for a few minutes until Mitch spoke again, this time it sounded much different, gentle, fluid, intoxicating, "You spoke of your own desires, and I have mine as well, despite what you think Freedom is not at the top of my list." Mitch turned. "So what is it that you want from me?"

The two had not been down here very long and the collar had been off less than that. Yet it had sparked a change in the elf that was undeniable. Every movement now had a fluidity to it that was reminiscent of dancing, every word was concise and carefully chosen. Head held high, shoulders back, Mitch stood as a testament to elf-kind. It was a beautiful sight, marred only by the rigid expression of a broken and angry soul. The elf that had once been as soft and as gentle as a summer breeze was no longer there.