[ Partway to sliding a finely-carved comb from the vanity into one of his many pockets, Silas pauses to look back over his shoulder in the gloom -- first to Fitcher, and then to the dresser playing host to his familiar. A chunky necklace is squeezing its way slowly down her gullet, drawn inexorably inward. Strands of drool loop like silver through her snaggled fangs.
Thot is occupied.
He finds a candle at the mantle that will suffice -- thick enough to balance itself on the bedside table he transfers it to without a holder. The rune of his lighter glows after a flick of his thumb, once, twice; the wick is waxy and slow to take a spark. ]
Anything promising?
[ Light doesn’t fill the room so much as it warms the one side of it in shades of muffled red. ]
ding dong magic dog
Thot is occupied.
He finds a candle at the mantle that will suffice -- thick enough to balance itself on the bedside table he transfers it to without a holder. The rune of his lighter glows after a flick of his thumb, once, twice; the wick is waxy and slow to take a spark. ]
Anything promising?
[ Light doesn’t fill the room so much as it warms the one side of it in shades of muffled red. ]