Ouroboros Spine the life we live is by choice, not by force

An instant chill wavered over him, like a gust of wind forcing itself down against the earth. Something was different. A strange pair of vocals tickled his audit, chin lifting briskly in response. It didn't take but a few seconds to set his eyes upon the woman. For several moments of time, he did not speak. Instead, he stared. The expression was not lacking caution, but it spared disdain.

Physique, pigmentation, scars. There were many scars. These features were all of what he took into account. It was an immediate instinct for most — especially those who had been living only for themselves for so long. Though, with this particular individual, the woman seemed to interest him, more-so frighten him or give cause to be wary. The appearance of one who would be slow to judge and fair of heart struck his eyes of her. Though, who was he to make such an assumption? He would have to learn the truth himself.

Pointing his ears and lifting his nose, the behemoth took a small step forward, planting his confidence affront the stranger. I am called Morte. And what is it the name of the woman I speak with?