Grimoire’s ears tilted forward at the twitch of his lip. Did he just smile… or was it a growl? He’d never held a emotion on his face before; he’d only ever sucked her’s away. It startled her… Then her lips slid into an entrancing smirk. Her eyes glimmered. Was there a balance between wraith and lupin to discover? Or would he break and leave to her to devour what was left?

His offer to be her shadow left a thrilling anxiety behind. Her muscles were riveted by the combination of emotions pumping through her veins. To have him follow her, like a ghost was primitively terrifying. He’d offered to be a being who haunted her - to occasionally breath reprieve into her fury. To feel him creeping up behind her to pull her into this - an evening of beauty - pulled to her throat an excitement she was unfamiliar with. It was unsettling and caused her to shiver. She lowered her head to join his feast. She observed the thoughtful devouring of flesh. The movements were executed precisely. The blood seeped into his fur in a perfect line. Should he ever murder, she wondered: would the assassination be just as neat?

To her question, he responded with names. All but one, she knew. Nakki had taught them to her. The one that confused was “Mother?” His mother? Grimoire’s mind was left hung at the end of a rope. Wraith was blood born demon? But he was pure. Grimoire’s mind slid out of the rope in a puddle. Was it that reason which she felt his pull so strongly? She blinked and refocused her eyes on him as he continued. The world had become a muddled place if it mistook Angels for Demons. It fell further into ruin to be considered her heritage a mere vocabulary word.

When he caught her gaze and held it, she felt her soul unhinge. It floated toward him of it’s own accord. She chased it, leaning toward his eyes to catch it - or so, she assumed she was doing. Her teeth parted to close on her spirit, but she missed. It rolled to his side, compelled by the idea of reducing Demon to frivolous syllables. Grimoire swept closer as she tried to convince her spirit, just as much as she proposed to Wraith,

She told him as she sealed herself back together, "My dear, I am more. We are more."

Her voice slipped into a tone that was full and misleadingly wholesome,

"We have a taste…"

She lifted a paw and lightly drew her nails through the fringes of fur on his chest - through her spirit’s shoulder.

"…a feel…"

Grimoire tilted her neck to him, in offer for him to draw near,

"…and a scent. We have ideas, purpose, and culture. Do you still believe a word with such connotations could possibly be reduced to mere syllables?”

Relief flooded her marrow when she felt her dislodged specter spiral back towards her. For a moment, she had convinced the temperamental force to remain attached, it’s ideals intact. She refocused on Wraith; had she convinced him?