"...PITY."

His smile warps. It seems almost sad, rueful for a heartbeat or two. But his magic flares despite the burn at his core, and the shadows surrounding them distort and stretch tall to flood the area then weave into something like a cage, tinted with the same deep violet that gleams in his good socket.

"✡︎⚐︎✞ 💧︎☟︎⚐︎✞☹︎👎︎ ☠︎⚐︎❄︎ ☟︎✌︎✞︎☜︎. NOT NOW."

You're...

Purple, now. Blue magic is heavy; weighted, measured, principled. Purple is sticky; it lingers, persists.

Perhaps he may owe the former monster at least some explanation. Perhaps he is supposed to monologue.

"PERHAPS YOU ARE ALREADY AWARE," he says. "WHATEVER ELSE THE CASTLE IS CAPABLE OF... IT IS CERTAINLY CAPABLE OF AFFECTING THE SOUL. YOURS... AND MINE BOTH."