Raven stood before the door of his room, his crimson eyes fixated on the black sword in his hand.
It hummed faintly—familiar, warm, pulsing like a heartbeat in tune with his own.
"…Let's do it right this time," Raven whispered.
The sword practically grinned in his palm.
"Ay, say no more, boss. You just stand there lookin' pretty—I got this. First impressions? I'm a freakin' legend at 'em. Trust me. I once almost sweet-talked myself into running away from the void."
Raven raised an eyebrow. "Right…"
He reached for the door handle, muttering inwardly, 'Why do I feel like this is going to go exactly as wrong as I think it will?'
He turned the knob.
Click.
The door swung open.
Standing just outside was Clara, her brows furrowed, lips slightly parted, and golden eyes filled with… concern.
Deep, genuine concern.
"You've been talking to yourself for like… ten minutes," she said cautiously. "I thought you were summoning a demon. Or… arguing with one. Or both. Are you okay?"
