Spite. Vitriol. Existing simply on pettiness alone seemed to be the aesthetic. Perhaps she lived off of vehemence and hate.
Even towards the banshee – with a distinct roll of her eyes, as if she’d seen it a thousand times before. Maybe she had. The screams hardly seemed to register (and maybe, honestly, she couldn’t even hear them in her advanced, elderly state).
She waved it off, shuffling down towards more vendors, ignoring other passersby with their widened eyes and surprised state, pointing at a few pieces and growling at anyone near. The Wraith needn’t worry about any old hag – banshee or otherwise.
Even towards the banshee – with a distinct roll of her eyes, as if she’d seen it a thousand times before. Maybe she had. The screams hardly seemed to register (and maybe, honestly, she couldn’t even hear them in her advanced, elderly state).
She waved it off, shuffling down towards more vendors, ignoring other passersby with their widened eyes and surprised state, pointing at a few pieces and growling at anyone near. The Wraith needn’t worry about any old hag – banshee or otherwise.
