[He can barely move, but his eyes track the shadow as though he’s watching some manner of betrayal in action, displeased the entire time. And that large shadow, with the extended, sharp-tipped hand? There’s something undulating about it, like just beneath the silhouette, writhing vines might exist, waiting for the right moment to unfurl from its back. Its neck.
Like right now.
Stepping away from the bookshelves, it draws closer to the both of them with long, even steps, tendrils of darkness stretching across the ground and… wending right towards Sprezzatura and Henry.]
no subject
Like right now.
Stepping away from the bookshelves, it draws closer to the both of them with long, even steps, tendrils of darkness stretching across the ground and… wending right towards Sprezzatura and Henry.]
That’s my shadow.
[Henry says, teeth grit.]