kissing death and loosing my breath

More often than not, Serafina oft chose to simply glaze over the intricate details of the life she'd once led. She had hated the look of pity when she admitted the truth behind it, or, perhaps even more, the look of disgust when they finally realized that she had once been one of those lost adolescents begging and stealing for money. Neither reactions were quite favorable for her and so, instead, she merely responded with vague notions to let others imagine the missing pieces she so oft failed to fill in. Azrael, however, seemed intent enough to inquire after what she often tended to avoid. For a moment, the young woman paused, noting the scowl that seemed to cross the man's features and softly she couldn't help the sigh that left her lips in response. Gingerly her head shook, her locks swaying in the gesture as she refocused on her work. "Yes, in a way. You see, Azrael, I never had parents. Well, I mean, I suppose I did at some point. Everyone does. But either they abandoned me or died. I've been alone as long as I can remember - well, with the other orphans. Admittedly we stole a lot, and begged just as much. I used to be quite the con-artist, you know." A ghost of a simper traced her feminine features, as if trying to force herself to make light of the situation. Shortly after, the girl waved off the topic as a whole, "Not that any of it matters now anyways though." She declared, turning her attention quite fully towards the meal at hand.

The young witch found herself entirely unable to help the giggle that left her lips at Azrael's confusion on her request. Nevertheless, she certainly didn't miss the fashion at which his eyes rolled nor the gruff words that left his lips and yet she hardly took offense to it. Instead, the girl offered only the smallest of shrugs, "Aw, big tough man can't beat up a chicken for little old me?" She inquired, quite clearly teasing the Dark Hunter on the topic. Serafina allowed the conversation topic to freely flow into her own experiences as a witch, a matter which had always been both intriguing and frustrating to the young girl. She glanced up at the concerned sound of Azarel's words and for a moment she let the silence linger, observing the apprehension that was mirrored within his figure. After a moment the young woman shook her head, a small simper crossing her features."No, you didn't. Raven did, if it matters. Not that I was terribly remiss on it. My mentor was always quite a pain." He gaze momentarily flittered towards the corner of the room, a small shrug crossing her shoulders, "Although I think he would have been much happier to die by your head instead. At least maybe then he wouldn't pout so much." Their rather rare open conversation on the topic had led her to admit the continued presence of her mentor, a slip up that she hadn't quite noticed admitting. After all, to date only Davante had been openly aware of the affinity she was still getting used to.

Unfortunately, her interest on the topic was very much distracted by the rather lacking abilities of his stove to do...well, much of anything really, as far as Serafina could tell. She glanced upwards at the man as he came to stand beside her, suddenly perhaps more aware than normal of his presence next to her. She could smell his cologne, drawing forth the momentary memory of his lips upon hers. The notion was enough to send her heart to flutter though any lingering thoughts on that lost opportunity were redirected by the sound of his voice. Her gaze glanced back to the pot, reaching out to touch the same coldness he seemed quite disgruntled about. Her attention turned back towards the man as he inquired about her abilities to "magic" fire, her eyes rolling at the thought. "No, Azrael, I can't simply just make magic wherever I please. I'm restricted in the same fashion you are - can you magic fire?" A soft huff left her lips as she reached out to lift the pot from the stove and move it to the side, fully intending to take the opportunity to get a better look at it. Unfortunately, the moment the pot had touched her fingertips, the once chilled water turned nearly solid, the droplets around the pot immediately creating the same film of ice on the pot itself. The sudden sensation of the arctic temperature saw the girl drop the pan all together, a surprised sound leaving her lips as it fell to the floor with a loud thud. For a moment, Serafina simply stared at the pot and it's contents, quite clearly confused by it's presence before slowly glancing up at the Dark Hunter beside her. "Was that me or you?"