Oliver sat by the window on the third floor, overseeing the field below with a solemn expression while Rook stood beside him. The constant noise of Phaedra battling the puppets on the fourth floor shattered his peaceful silence, and he even had to place his hands over his ears to eliminate the intensity of the sound that reached him at its peak.
When he couldn't handle it anymore, the young man summoned his blade with a grimace and headed to the fourth floor, only to be met at the entrance by the tiny girl dragging a dead String Puppet out. Her face was covered with dust, and she wore a weary expression.
He pointed at the Puppet in her hand with a raised eyebrow.
"...Where are you taking that to?"
Phaedra chuckled and tossed the dead creature aside nonchalantly. "It was a trophy. Trust me, I deserved one. Those things were crawling all over the fourth floor, about fifty or more of them, I think."
His face darkened.
