The woman found herself drawn to the room in which the ruby was housed quite often. More specifically, she was drawn to the magic inside. She didn't covet it, no. That sort of power couldn't be absorbed, couldn't be assimilated, she was sure. It could be returned, or it could be released (to disastrous consequences to anything and anyone in the vicinity), but never taken inside something organic, never repurposed for anything the Domina might consider useful. She knew, because she had looked. And looked. And looked...