Barrow Fields i need not one thing more

o mona ;-;

caiaphas admitted, in her own way, that it had to have stung to hear from a stranger that her father was dead. had she a heart, or a conscience, she might have felt bad -- instead, she gloated as she evinced a sense of frigidity from the russet woman. she had always had that affect on people -- drawing forth from their secluded reserves a prickliness that ought to be hidden.

caiaphas had always delighted in drawing forth from strangers their ire -- for whatever reason, she was a fire-setter, an instigator -- her gaze lit afire as she witnessed mona's crisp change -- a chord was hit, a nerve struck -- and she was here to drive her thumb inside it.

"yeah, i knew him." she answered, somewhat uncharitable with her contribution. "you didn't try donnelaith?"