in this cautious dusk, hood over her head, the breath that escapes her is brief. a vague sense of threat riddled in absence alerts her, and so does alucard; they are not alone. there's a preemptive spark and a chill running along her fingertips.  “  if my travels taught anything, it is to expect people to seek their church and gather there. but, if this village is anything like gresit .  .  .  ”  they could have never left, her wandering eyes imply, almost regretfully. her attention falls to the windows, looking for any shadows. a noise on wood. anything.