Ophelia looked around suspiciously, her hands going to her rapiers’ hilts and gripping them, ready to unsheathe the weapons, her green eyes gaining a darker shade, every muscle in the body tensing as an immediate reaction to the sensation of danger. The bard felt the aura of almost sickeningly powerful malevolence around her. The last time she felt like this was… when she faced Myrkul? That was alarming, that was strange, that was not right… And it didn’t frighten her, when it should have.
She felt it then: the unease. The discomfort of others was but an herb to her: rejuvenating. She pursued this energy as a huntress would her prey, looking until she found the presence which she sought. ‘Twas but a woman, thankfully so. She knew not what she would have done if it had been a revolting male cowering in the strangers place. The vessel found no need to reach for her mortal form's whips, and instead waited to be noticed.
She desired nothing but a reaction.
