(Soren's perspective)
Andrais indeed did not have a tongue by the time the sun rose the next day. And perhaps I would have been less generous had I not passed Serena fleetingly in the hall the next morning. I don't bother to hide my smirk upon hearing her heart hammer in her chest as she passes, petite nose wrinkling, as though there is some offensive smell in the air that my own is blind to.
Her mood is, as ever, a tumultuous array of emotions. I almost have a hard time deciphering whether she is annoyed at me or not, though her deepening frown seems to say enough. She daren't look at me as she passes, but makes a good show of bumping her shoulder against mine hard enough that had I been mortal, it might have knocked it out of its socket. I let her pass.
With an attitude like that- cold and bitter, and as changeable as the winds of a snowstorm in the bleak mist of a winters night, I muse that she would make an excellent vampire.
