@mortalnotmagic is reading a villainous tableau ✘
"Thou art no mortal, boy.”
Her breath comes out in a tumble afterwards, half a sigh and half excitement, mouth falling open into a near-predatory smile--something belonging more to a cadaver than to so sweet a living siren. All Hallow’s Eve was upon the world once more and Sarah Sanderson’s heeled boots walked solid black rivers again, crunched over small strange rocks again, danced past small children dressed as imps. ‘Twas a strange world still, but the presence of another thrumming with the same moonlit hum in their veins as in hers was a comfort. She sidled up to the boy (a man in fact, but a boy in airs) and laid the long spindles of her fingers on his arm, marveling at the sight.
“Tell me, what art thou, to be so alike mineself but dressed in so strange a garb?”
