Barrow Fields the worst thing about prison was the dementors

when she did not depart, but instead focused fully upon him, until mahler's hackles prickled with the unfamilar sensation of being so thoroughly observed. it was quite often himself on the other side of a proverbial microscope; her appraisal displeased him a great deal. however, he only slowly brought his ears to bear, otherwise he did not move and met her curious look with a cold stare of his own. 
so open was the woman about her own state of mind that the musiker amused himself by counting how many emotions tangled together across her dark features. but still the she-wolf did not depart, and mahler was growing weary of the game. he stood finally, approaching her with his full height and his broad tread confident; drew close, seeking to hold her feline eyes with his own in a new sort of game. one more pleasant for him.