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"Something amiss?”

The barefoot petite shewolf walked in the shadows of the Château, seeking something and nothing. Most likely she would go back to her house without a slave as per most days for holding her attention was a difficult task. Galadrielle drifted in and out of her thoughts until the scent of the huntress caught her attention. She did not stepped out of the darkness and instead leaned against the cold wall.

This one reminded Galadrielle of the huntresses at the camp she had been born and tormented in. This burning hatred and fire in her eyes, that would never stop until her last breath. And while so many were seduced by such, it drove the shewolf further down into the deepest pit of her insanity, angered her. For such gaze was the one she was given at the youngest age. And while at a time, she feared it, a time when innocent and pure were still words that could described Galadrielle, now it provoked her anger, thrilled her sickness and made it want to retaliate.

Death had refused to open its arms to the petite shewolf when she had been nothing but a child, begging it to take her as she fell time and time again under the brutal and savage assaults of the huntresses. And thus, while too many would think she had a desire to see the one to whom the scent of gun powder was still attached dead, Galadrielle had no such intentions.Death was too kind.