The man on the altar paused in his storytelling, his dark eyes lifting to meet the Seer's hollow, dangling gaze. Slowly, he adjusted his glasses, a faint smile curling his lips—a grin devoid of warmth or humanity.
"Seer," he drawled, his voice smooth but unnervingly detached, "you're an eyesore. Either commit to losing your neck entirely or plug it into that lovely little hole in your chest. This in-between state? It's so inelegant. Almost offensive, really."
The Uncrowned Clown barked out a sharp laugh at the comment, as if it were the height of wit, while the Seer merely sighed, her expression cold and resigned. Her gaze drifted to the severed head resting on the man's thigh.
"So," she said, her voice weary, "the Magicians finally rebelled?"
The man—known as Thalus of the Broken Eye, one of the ten Fingers of Solitude and a member of the enigmatic Fate family—smirked, his hand lazily running through the Night Mistress's dark locks.