“They tell me you want to live forever.”
The old man blinks at your directness. He was expecting the customary social pleasantries, a leisurely discussion of the weather and recent events, at least three cups of tea, before either of you addressed the reason for your visit.
You are well-versed in those things, though, further dissection holding little interest. And you are a witch, it serves you well to trample convention.
He mumbles something, a well-worn complaint about young people these days. Putting the teapot down again, he looks at you directly and says, simply for him, “Yes.”