“You seemed a little in the know about the ins and outs of the routine, my dear.” Pride thrives in his lopsided grin, flashing a few pale sharp edges for the promise of a correct estimate confirmed— only dropped by a noticeable measure when she opts to chase his inquiries with her own.

A bat. Of course. Is it never enough anymore to simply have sharp teeth? Immortality? No, it’s always mist, wolves, flocks of bats, covens—

“Only when I feel like it.”

Liar.