"Ah." Seraphielle laughed, a sound that grated against the rain-soaked stones of the courtyard. There was something almost unsettling about the sound, because It was thin, reedy, utterly devoid of the fear one might expect from a woman whose robes were tattered, whose left side was a charred and ruined, struck by the full force, from the Storm Lord's fury.
Rainwater plastered strands of dark hair to her face, yet she managed a faint, chilling smile, as though the entire grim situation before her was merely a source of faint amusement.
"Let me guess," she continued, her gaze sweeping past Valerian, dismissing him for a moment to fix on the men flanking him.
"Your little Mortis witch will rectify the issue, I presume. Where is she, if I may ask?" Her eyes moved with deliberate slowness from Aldric to Soren and back again, a subtle challenge in their depths. "You didn't bring her with you, then?"
"I'm over here."
