#stigr.

One of the first worries Vulpe had once he discovered he'd be sent to Krovs was the Vampire Council itself. His previous owners had been kind, and it had been years since the Celestial had to worry about the cruelty he was often exposed to after the Second War ended. However, his move had kept him slightly on edge. Even considering his relatively new arrival, he had seen many vampires he crossed during the war. He prayed in the back of his mind that his existence would be easily forgotten. He had been one among many; certainly not memorable enough in fighting prowess. Vulpe had took lives, nonetheless. Someone was bound to remember, and it didn't take long until he discovered who. The masters of the castle still hadn't found much use out of him, so he crossed Stigr in one of his free roaming hours, the library abandoned with few exceptions in between shelves. Foolishly, the Celestial didn't notice who he was approaching when requesting for the reaching of one specific book. One look was enough, because the councilman had almost ripped out part of his wings at one point. Vulpe offered a smile, however, composing himself to avoid recoiling. As to not be impolite, he bowed his head slightly, trying to follow what he remembered of the protocol. — I apologize. I didn't recognize you, sir. — he got on the tip of his toes, barely getting the hardcover he so desired. It would be much easier if his powers hadn't been so thoroughly drained, but alas. — I guess the existence of a copy of this got me overexcited. — he showed off the Goetia, with small hopes of still being unknown.