Pearl left the cellar after exactly one minute.
One minute of interrogration, of very weird sounds that were indescribable.
He closed the door behind him without a sound, the faint creak of the hinges echoing like a dying whisper in the hall.
His sleeves were still rolled up, and his hands… Oh lord, those snobby, scholarly hands that I thought would be used to turn pages or trace runes, were painted deep red.
He didn't look back at the door, and didn't say much, either. The man took off his glasses from his collar, wiped them with a clean handkerchief from his breastpocket.
"He's ready to talk." Pearl said.
"Already?" I blinked. "…You're kidding… Did you offer him some head or something?"
Weird joke I made there, and I regretted it as both Pearl and Olga looked at me funny.
