The two of them just looked at each other, then at the unlucky errant canine that had chosen the wrong time to wander into the magical city of Weafewand, another day and perhaps he would have been chosen to become a familiar, he would have been well fed, he would have thrived and lived the best possible life for a mutt like himself.
Alas, he instead found himself in an alley, sandwiched in between the worst possible people within a radius of a width that can not be simply measured.
The Death Dealer tilted her head to the side a slight bit, her dark brown hair following suit with an abnormal delay, her sick yellow-green eyes seemingly glowing as they reflected the dim lighting of the moon.
A peculiar, but rather telling smile on her face, her mouth barely opened with a slit, no teeth visible, that look meant something precise, or perhaps it was a mere coincidence, like a mix between 'What do we have here?' and 'You fucked up'.
