soulgaze Molly

I stopped and turned to face her. She mirrored me. "This might feel a little weird. But it won't last as long as it seems."
"Okay," she said, that lost-child tone still in her voice.
I met her eyes.
For a second, I thought nothing had happened. And then I realized that the soulgaze was already up and running, and that it showed me Molly, standing and facing me as nothing more than she seemed to be. But I could see down the hall behind her, and the church's windows held half a dozen different reflections.
One was an emaciated version of Molly, as though she'd been starved or strung out on hard drugs, her eyes aglow with an unpleasant, fey light. One was her smiling and laughing, older and comfortably heavier, children surrounding her. A third faced me in a grey Warden's cloak, though a burn scar, almost a brand, marred the roundness of her left cheek. Still another reflection was Molly as she appeared now, though more secure, laughter dancing in her eyes. Another reflection showed her at a desk, working.
But the last...
The last reflection of Molly wasn't the girl. Oh, it looked like Molly, externally. But the eyes gave it away. They were flat as a reptile's, empty. She wore all black, including a black collar, and her hair had been dyed to match. Though she looked like Molly, like a human being, she was neither. She had become something else entirely, something very, very bad.
Possibilities. I was looking at possibilities. There was definitely a strong presence of darkness in the girl, but it had not yet gained dominion over her. In all the potential images, she was a person of power-different kinds of power, certainly, but she was strong in all of them. She was going to wind up with power of her own to use or misuse, depending on what choices she made.
What she needed was a guide. Someone to show her the ropes, to give her the tools she would need to deal with her newfound power, and all the baggage that came with it. Yes, that kernel of darkness still burned coldly within her, but I could hardly throw stones there. Yes, she had the potential to go astray on an epic scale.
Don't we all.
I thought of Charity and Michael, Molly's parents, her family. Her strength had been forged and founded in theirs. They both regarded the use of magic as something suspect at best, and if not inherently evil, then inherently dangerous. Their opposition to the power that Molly had manifested might turn the strength they'd given their daughter against her. If she believed or came to believe that her power was an evil, it could push her faster down the left-hand path.
I knew something of how much Michael and Charity cared for their daughter.
But they couldn't help her.
One thing was certain, though, and gave me a sense of reassurance. Molly had not yet indelibly stained herself. Her future had yet to be written.
It was worth fighting for.
The gaze ended, and the various images in the windows behind Molly vanished. The girl herself trembled like a frightened doe, staring up at me with her eyes wide and huge.
"My God," she whispered. "I never knew..."
"Easy," I told her. "Sit down until things stop spinning."
I helped her settle to the floor with her back to the wall, and I did the same beside her. I rubbed at a spot between my eyebrows that began to twinge.
"What did you see?" she whispered.
"That you're basically a decent person," I told her. "That you have a lot of potential. And that you're in danger."


Proven Guilty, Chapter 41, Page 343-344