Blackfeather Woods Bloody Mary, full of vodka, blessed are you amongst cocktails.

Everyone was convinced that it was sins the gods punished them for, but Cicero was convinced that this was all the doing of the gods in their own wicked pleasures. Mephala lusted for their blood and lust, so perhaps that was why they were created this way. He'd never put much stock into the words of the gods, but if they had any say in any of this, then he was sure it was as orchestrators and not as punishers.

His delayed senses picked up the sound of her words before they picked up the soft thud of the fall. He halted and looked to the side, to see a pond with a white figure at its shores. It didn't take long to realise who was there even in his pain-induced state of hazy pleasure. Cicero was quick to recognise the state that she was in, for he had been there many times — was there many times, too, these days — and he made his way towards her. "Sister," he said, his voice cool and distant, even moreso through the poisons he had taken, upon reaching her side and he nosed her ribs, almost as if he truly thought that would help her get up.