Demaht moved with him, once again blocking his path. "Stupid boy! Ya don't get it! It ain't his! That's why I ain't goin' back and that's why ya gotta keep it." She wasn't sure how else to explain this to the dolt! It was so obvious, but maybe he had moths where his brain ought to be, and she was starting to grow thin on patience. Anyone else would have taken the bait by now, but he just wanted to take her back!
It was infuriating! And downright insulting, and she could feel herself growing hotter, feel the air around her heat, but she pushed it down in favor of one last tactic.
Ugh, she hated doing this, but maybe...?
A stricken look crossed her face, like Gospel had wrenched a puppy from her hands and beat it to death in front of her, and she slumped in defeat. She couldn't cry; she completely lacked that capacity. But she had become very good at imitating what crying looked like, minus the tears: the crushed look, the bright eyes. She took a deep breath. "Ya don't understand," she mumbled, looking down and away. "I'm a djinn. That necklace...it's not just a necklace. It's my everything. It is me. Please don't make me go back."