Emberwood The die is cast.

She would have continued sauntering along, careless and unaffected, had he not mentioned Rome. The sound of his voice was chiding, as if he coveted a secret that was on the tip of his tongue - a secret she could be privy to. It was enough to stall her; she turned and regarded him with a stern expression upon her face, her golden eyes aflame and set in to a scowl.

Basilie knew better than to let her own secrets see the light of day. Was he goading her for any great purpose? Was he after a grand reveal, or something else? Curious - but not at all willing to play the game he presented - the sharpness of her face returned to a softness. Charisma could be a weapon just as much as teeth.

And what am I afraid of, the big bad wolf? Ah, she could play his game if the need arose. The question was rhetorical, but she latched upon his more disarming comment first, to test the waters. Are you quite done? She chuffed softly, playing up her exasperation; really she'd have more pleasure out of this exchange if she could sink her teeth in to him. To dissuade with her fangs.

I have places to be, and no interest in speaking to an et exclamaverunt.

But she knew better. For now.