Part Fore-Toe

I'm sitting across a man. The room is filled with smoke, a children's choir is singing a devil's hymn behind us, a woman, one leg, brings us drinks. Mi madre ha muerto, she says. I smile empathically. The man is an alchemist, he is here to teach me. He is my Señor Zenith. I know all of the Artes Liberales, now the forbidden arts are in order. The Alchemist drinks and smiles. I wish he would look into my eyes and see my conviction. The Alchemist is more handsome than I imagined, his voice warmer, his gestures soothing. I lean back. I hear the woman repeat herself, mi madre ha muerto, to the harpies sitting next to us. They shriek and laugh and spit in her face. A boy, a soprano clearly, yells out: 'look, she's back!' and as in a vision I see the Bride walk into the smoky room. She waltzes to our table and introduces herself to my Alchemist. My Señor Zenith.
"Forgive me, I should have warned you," I stumble. But he merely smiles and for the first time he looks into my eyes.
"I studied Ibn Hayyan, Hermes Trismegistus, Alain de Lisle, Masini and Boehme, but never did I find the symbol I need." The Bride takes my hand and we both look to the Alchemist for an answer.