death only knocks once

Darkness was no stranger to Sarya; it was an old friend, the kind of friend that comforts simply by existing. To be wrapped in shadow was, to Sarya, to be enveloped in safety. As she wandered the tunnels, she found herself reminiscing on days gone by, nights spent dancing in darkness, swathed in shadow, a silent and deadly wisp of the night. Some in her homeland had worshipped the moon, hoping for the favor of a goddess who cast light into darkness; Sarya had prayed for moonless nights, reveled in the disappearance of a starry sky behind cloud cover. To be seen was to be remembered, and that simply wouldn't do in her line of work. The light from her torch flickered along the tunnel walls as she turned right down another empty hallway. The exposed rock of the walls glowed amber in the torchlight, each flicker of the flame bringing with it a new array of shadow and light. Despite her love of darkness, Sarya could watch fire dance for hours. It never seemed to flare the same way twice, and the way it swirled and flexed made her feel... more alive, somehow. So enamored was she with the glow of the torch on gleaming rock that she nearly missed the first appearance of a pale face in her circle of light. There was a flicker of something out of the corner of her eye, and the woman stopped, snapping her head towards what she'd imagined as a ghostly figure, only to find nothing there. Her eyes narrowed slightly; she had the uneasy feeling of being watched. Slowly, she stepped forward once more, then twice; and it was then that, out of nowhere, a smirking face appeared. It surprised her, and she lifted an eyebrow, muscles tensing beneath her comfortable clothes. Still, she had spent years perfecting her emotional control, and so her reaction was, perhaps, disappointing to any who would prefer their prey to jump, or shriek, or run. Her surprise was in the subtle quirk of her eyebrow; the way her free hand just barely twitched, as though itching to reach for a weapon; the tiny bobble of the torch as she considered dropping it to free her hands. But, in the end, she merely stood, staring at what appeared to be a disembodied head, and returned the devious smirk with her own mischievous smile. "Imagine finding someone else down here," she purred, her voice soft and silky in the darkness. "One might think a foray into the dark depths of the earth would indicate a desire to be alone, but it's really rather cozy down here, don't you think?" She kept her voice light and conversational, though she did not relax. She had few positive experiences with strangers appearing in the dark, and she very much doubted that this new world would be much different in that regard. "talk" s a r y a If I were dead I wouldn't be sad I wouldn't be glad Because I wouldn't be