kissing death and loosing my breath

The young witch was, more often then not, entirely serious with her words. There were very few times that she was outright playful and even less moments when she offered an empty threat or promise. Promises meant everything to her. Words meant everything to her. It and actions were her form of currency. They had a weight to them that she could not merely dismiss. Raven's actions that fateful day within her floating sanctuary had resonated within the witch's soul. They were something she could not excuse or explain away. It sickened her that the instead of using her voice, instead of accepting their help, she had resorted to violence. It angered her that she had been so willing to quite literally throw Serafina away from the Dark Hunter because they failed to fit into her roles of who belonged with who. It was something she had not forgotten, even if she hadn't seen Azrael since that fateful day. Instead, the young woman had spent her time tracking down and pouring over every book of lore and spell that had anything to do with the art of familiars. She had learned much on what they should have been and the proper way in which her kind was supposed to call one to their aid. Sadly for Serafina, there were surprisingly little information upon binding a were-creature to yourself in the uncanny fashion that she had managed to.

It had frustrated her to no end but she had refused to give up, digging deeper and deeper. She wove together whatever spells and potions she could complete on her own but they were all without fail - leaving the young woman with that constant connection still humming somewhere deep inside of the back of her mind. Even so, Serafina was unwilling to give up. She attempted every magical trick in her arsenal to break the two before attempting the ever growing list of possibilities that required the presence of the woman she had come to find such a bitter distaste for. A soft sigh of exasperation left the woman's lips as she glanced up from the books that lay open on her dining room table. The entire surface of the mahogany tabletop was covered with leather bound books, old wrinkled parchment paper, loosely bound papyrus, and the odd print out or two from the internet. It was a culmination of every piece of knowledge on familiars that Serafina was able to find. Her kitchen counter tops were sprawled with herbs, a small cauldron on the stove bubbling with some sickeningly sweet smelling liquid. Her mortar and pestle held the crushed remains of whatever potion Serafina was attempting and yet, even as Serafina drank the fruition of her latest efforts - nothing seemed to happen.

The young woman quite nearly collapsed on one of the kitchen chairs, her hands reaching up to rub her temples in an effort to massage away the migraine that pulsed at her skull. Everything she had ingested made the young witch nauseated but she wa still without any real gains to show for it. With a rather large sense of hesitance, she reached out to that mental connection - that string that bound her to the wolf. She sent one simple feeling through, a single urge to come when it was convenient to her townhouse. There was no rush there, no lingering sense of an emergency. Serafina could wait, after all. In fact, waiting sounded quite good. Perhaps with a cup of tea to quiet her upset stomach and ease the pain that throbbed within her head.