"Neit." Her name on his tongue, his deep voice... The single word spoken in the silent room. As she rose to his tone of voice, Siberius walked up to her, face unreadable. The smile on her lips grew at his approach, mischievous and intended.
She had not said a word. The Necromonger’s actions spoke for her and quite loudly. Heels clicked and that short golden train trailed behind her with every step. The pads of her fingers graced his cold, pale cheek. She gifted him with a predatory smile.
“How many fell from your sword?”