[Master of Forms] felt his presence when a sudden shift of atmosphere occurred in his room. In his miniature chair and oversized desk that almost made him look comical in contrast, the Dean lifted his head.
His hands were steepled, his sharp green eyes glinted beneath his heavy brow as he assessed the boy of shadows standing before him.
Spheris was just as quiet. It was disconcerting how unsure one could be of his intentions because of the way he would just stand, blankness in his face. Just a dark, soulless gaze.
Gladdeus Smallbutter on the other hand was half certain of his intentions.
The tension was dangerous, and he was aware of it, but he carefully attempted to maneuver it. First he reclined on his chair, and abandoned the scroll he had been studying.
"Wishfully, you will permit me to offer my condolences for your... tragic loss," he said with some emotion and authority. "I can not fathom what you might be going through."
