kissing death and loosing my breath

In truth, the peculiar escapade that had led to the mentoring warlock's death was a particularly carefully guarded secret for the young witch. His physical remains had been unceremoniously and haphazardly discarded, never again to be found or see the light of day. His business had been taken over, his home and assets now entirely belonging to the youthful, predatory girl and in return no one was any wiser. At least, such had been the plan before he came knocking on her door from beyond the grave. Even his ghastly presence was one she rarely spoke of, her slip seeming to pass entirely unnoticed until - well, it didn't. The simper that danced upon her sweetheart lips at the notion of Raven's utter failure at the hand's of the were horse died entirely the moment he inquired as to the intricacies of how her mentor could possibly pout if he was supposed to be dead. Instead, an exasperated sigh left the young woman's lips as her stormy eyes flittered from the man to find the transparent form of the warlock himself settled on the bench at Azrael's table..

It was a surprising difficult thing to admit - that she could see and communicate with those that walked in the afterlife. She remembered the look upon his features when he discovered what she was, much less the discomfort at discovering her aptitude with elixirs. In a way, she'd rather be the powerless witch rather than admit any truth to the fashion at which her capabilities had grown. Rather than offering up some fashion of explanation, Serafina merely shrugged ever so slightly, happy for the stove to distract him from the insecurities she refused to allow leave her sweetheart lips. Her discomfort, however, is quite quickly forgotten if only by the certainty her companion displayed at her indignant response to the notion that she might be capable of merely bringing fire into existence. Her lips parted ever so slightly in a small display of awe as a bright, beaming orb manifested within the steady palm of the man's hand. Her head tilted to the side, her ebony locks falling around her face as she did so. Serafina glanced upwards at the Dark Hunter, listening to his explanation and though the man's capabilities were certainly impressive, the young witch hardly wished to inform him thusly. After all, he was already particularly egotistical to begin with. She hardly wanted to make it worse.

Instead, Serafina reached out to move the pot off the burner, the sudden frigidness of it's touch upon her skin abruptly caused the young woman to uncharacteristically drop the pot. It banged against the floor as it fell, the young woman moment taken back by not only the coldness, or even the fact that it was frozen but also by the sheer speed in which Azrael propelled himself across the room. It seemed his capabilities for agility still caught the witch off guard. Serafina glanced up at the indignant reply in which she was given, her eyes rolling ever so slightly at the man's vehement insistence that he had nothing to do with the pot. Slowly, her grey tinged gaze shifted to her own hand, only just beginning to contemplate on the suggestion that she might somehow have been the origin point for this peculiar phenomenon. Unfortunately she hardly was given the opportunity to consider it long before a pamphlet was shoved within her hand. A huff left her lips, discouraged perhaps by the turn of events when she had previously been ecstatic at the notion to show the man she very much was capable of fulfilling those stereotypical roles. The corner of her lips twitched downwards as he fingertips slowly leafed through the pages, looking through it for something that caught her interest. She had only just gotten half way down the menu when the Dark Hunter inquired for her hand, a look of vague suspicion crossing her features as she glanced up at him. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that patience was a virtue?" She inquired dryly in return, reaching out to provide the man with her smaller, soft palm.