Silence hung in the air, as Nyrel spread her arms with her eyes closed in peace.
Then... nothing happened. No raging snows of sorrow; no ice sharpened with edged bloodlust.
Confused, Nyrel's eyes reopened, slow and hesitant.
Until she was only greeted with Mel's disgusted glare.
Yet that disgusted glare narrowed, as the Witch tilted her head.
Then Nyrel remembered; no, she was forced to remember.
Her Master, Pride, was the kindest Master she knew.
Yet when she first suggested raising the fallen enemies as Undeads, her Master's smile always came unprompted.
But she later realised it was not anger.
It was disappointment, just like Mel's smiley eyes now.
"Have I told you," Mel spoke, her voice graceful yet carrying a strange authority. "What a world for a witch looks like?"
Her hand stretched to tap a snowflake; a gentle gesture for her lover's magic, and the burden Lila had to carry from now on.
