"It has recently come to my attention," Azrael spits across the table, his fingers clacking against the wood in a rhythmic, insistent hum that continues to drone around the room like the hum of a hive.
It is clear from the way the conscious faery at the end of the table glances around to his tranced associates that Azrael's actions are rendering him entirely uncomfortable- for he has barely even touched the food on his plate. The only thing he has managed to tolerate is the wine, evidence of its blood red hue staining his lips. I suppose it takes a certain lack of soberness to address the Prince of vampires when your life is very much on the line, and the fate of your kingdom, too.
"...that recently you housed a young girl for about five years with a particular set of… powers that I am looking for. I mean her no harm, you see. I only wish to speak to her."
