“Cure?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You talk like I’m diseased, when what I really am is free.” He wavers. “Well, free in part. We trade some of our autonomy in the exchange for unfettered access to power. Maybe you see it as a loss of our soul, but we aren’t burdened by conscience or weakened by emotional attachment. We advance based on our own capabilities, our own talents, and not at the whim of some creature. There’s no cure because magic does not negotiate, and we do not wish to be cured.”
