An Odd Sort Of Dance
The wind whistled through the graveyard; the mausoleums glistened in the morning’s early hours. “Quite a morbid place you’ve brought me to,” Isadora murmured.
Katherine looked back at the Viking Queen. Even in a henley and jeans she still looked regal and powerful. A force to be reckoned with. “This is where she told me to meet,” Katherine said.
Iriel snorted. “Always the drama queen aren’t you,” he said, raising his voice as the fog cleared and seemed to move up around them, forming a bit of a cocoon.
A lone figure walked up to them.
“I rather perform my magic where it’s always been the strongest,” Helena said.
“Among the dead,” Katherine said crossing her arms. “Why am I not surprised?”