"Ugh," Draco grunts, as he seems to be doing a lot around Morgayne. His red eyes roll slowly to the sky, wondering if the dark depths of the tightly-knit forest canopy will reveal some terrible premonition about how the smell of sulfur and rot will follow him for all his days. It's easy for him to picture, the world repulsed by him not because of his cruel nature, but because he smells of a fart held in for too long. Though he does not worry for his scent for long, his piercing irritation still settles plainly in Morg's direction.
"Do you want to die?" the demon asks, cocking his head and drawing his eyes back to the closing wound. He thinks he could kill her if she wanted, if death was some unconquered feat she so seeks out. They could even find one with resurrection magic, to bring her back once she's seen the Afterlife. He is admittedly intrigued by the idea, by the thought of someone describing the land of the dead to him. Draco's red gaze leaves the wound and finds Morgayne's face, a sort of hunger marring his sharp, handsome features. Being a creature ruled by both cruelty and impatience, he can hardly hide how he thinks of killing her now.
Every inch of Morg is inspected when she twists in her little circle, and the demon is admittedly impressed by how little she missed; but there is a cut where her hip meets her barrel and Draco commands, "Stop." He reaches forward with his mouth, pressing a little too roughly into the injury and murmuring, "Here." A rogue feeling stirs in his gut and he draws back, eyeing the woman suspiciously.
"Are you only able to heal yourself? Or others, too?" Draco flicks his tail in his typical irritated fashion, wondering what other surprises his neighbor holds.
@Morgayne
