Hideaway Strath It’s not that serious.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The voices were clamorous, with their fruitless whispers and pleas, their haunting howls and cries of torment - it was this that held her tongue against the roof of her mouth, a single orb of crimson twitching as it traced her brother's movements. Crooked shadows leapt in the dead of the night, those demon's unworthy gremlins - though she trailed her kin with ease - the witching hour, no doubt; it was not simply a time, it was her time. She knew this with instinctual certainty, for this was the time in which the spirits veered closer to her own, knocking against her soul in feeble attempt to grasp the living before death did hale them down into eternal tenebrosity. This is why they squalled to her, tonight.

Pity they would fail to witness the thrums of her voice. She had no business with the dead in this moment.

She watched the moon shiver in luminiferous glory, but turned before the demons could slither back into the cracks of that frigid embrace. Priest. Where he chose to pilot them, she knew not, but it mattered little amongst the depths of her thoughts - she only prayed he kept them away from the insolence of mortals, with their fathomless requests, selfish demands, their endless incompetence. Hum had no desire to serve, not unless the rewards slotted into her own ideals.

But where he should wander, she will follow. Even the moon told her this.