My dear, has it ever crossed that clever mind of yours that I could change you into a human?

You… what?

A human. No more hiding, no more scales, no more looks of fear and confusion. You would be one of them.

Don’t try and convert me with your promises, witch!

No conversion, no strings attached. It would cost me nothing. Hell, we both would find the experience rather enjoyable.

Stop talking, I don’t… I…

Ah, but that’s just it, isn’t it? You don’t want to be human. You never have.
All your life, you’ve been told to pretend. Told to blend in, to imitate. They said that your scales are something unsightly, a defect to be hidden away. Wherever you go, your superiors send a handler to remind you: never drift too far across that line. We both know the orders he’s really been given. he’s waiting behind you with a gun in case you decide to think for yourself.
But despite all their rules, all their judgement, all their suits and their chains, you LOVE this. You savor every drop of your power, you live for the thrill of combat. You silently cheer every time you’re “forced” to draw on the Athame’s strength. The Expurgatory has told you it’s dangerous, that it will seduce you into the darkness.
But the Athame is just a tool. It isn’t sentient, it won’t corrupt you. I can plainly see it’s workings, all it does is channel strength from the plane of Wroth into its wielder. Your sword isn’t the danger, Delilah. You are.
Go back to them, if that’s what you need. Keep treading lightly, edging around what you know you want. They’ll never accept the real you, only the mask they’ve forced you to wear.
But I will always be here. And on the day you decide to stop lying, I will welcome you with open arms.

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Don’t mind me, just writing some self indulgent dialogue between Vara and Delilah.