"Well, drink your tea while it's still hot, dearie. Nothing's worse than cold tea," the witch Corvina said, taking a deliberate gulp of her own tea and smiling sweetly, her cracked lips parting to reveal teeth that seemed too sharp for comfort.
Maveth stared at the muddy liquid in his cup, the dark surface reflecting his gaunt features. Silently, he prayed to any deity, spirit, or force that might hear his plea, before taking a reluctant sip and forcing it down his throat. The bitter, acrid taste was an assault on his senses. His companions were grateful that they were devoid of any taste buds.
"It tastes terrible," Maveth said flatly, his tone as devoid of life as his complexion was pale.
The witch's smile widened, the creases on her face deepening into sharp valleys. "Don't you know it's good manners to compliment the host's tea, even if it does taste terrible?"
"You wish me to lie?" Maveth asked, his tone unchanging.
