"Because you are weak, because none of you have successfully gone beyond class seven, you need me."
Pretending to be Jack the Ripper meant picking a particular personality. He chose to stick to a calm, regal composure, except with a slimy edge. A creepy edge where he eyed the woman with the intent to kill. He looked over his shoulder at Grace and would let his gaze linger for too long.
Daughter remained unfazed, to his actions and to his words. "We do. We do not shy away from that fact. Our existence is a delicate thread woven from the insecurities of many guilds. We are hired by everyone and are respected by none."
"How unfortunate."
"Tell me," Daughter said, "what do you plan to do with the Eitr-forged iron we gave you? We immediately suspected you of reincarnation the moment you request Xavier of it. So what is it? What will you be forging?"
"What indeed…"
