ANNIHILA: 26, Witch, Keeper of the Dead, Questionably Human
“You’re following me,” she says, smiling despite herself. The gray shadows of hands against the wall twist frantically, shoving excuses at her. Her laughter cracks the silence in time with the crackle of the fire, sparks popping in the hearth. “You are!”
“Not following!” Elias insists, stopping to push away some mis-signed words. “Maybe. You’re warm.”
“Of course. You know what they say: warm hands, freezer-burnt heart.” She stretches for a bundle of dried sage, turning her back on his familiar signaling. “Or however that’s supposed to go.”















