It's neither a rapier nor a big, heavy blade. It's not a new-made weapon; the grip is worn and shows signs of use and even suggests old stains, but the rest is absolutely pristine, without so much as a scratch to be seen. It gleams dully, not being something polished mirror-bright.
Normally when Camilla - anyone, really - picks up an unknown sword they have to take a moment to gauge the feel of it, the weight, the balance. Not this. Its balance is perfect. It weighs three pounds. It feels 'alive' in the poised way that a good sword does in the hand of someone who can evaluate that. Alive, and steady, somehow.
Need doesn't comment or react but studies what she can get through the young woman's senses and reactions. She's conscious, so she doesn't have to reveal her inscription or anything like that, and she is cautious by nature. There's... something about this girl, this Camilla. Something is off about her soul - yes, something is riding it. Someone, rather.
If a mind can be compared to a house then there is someone else in this one, tucked up in a closet or a chest while its occupant goes about her business of living. Need, creeping soundlessly into that house like a mist, takes an instant, automatic dislike. Of course long-dead bodiless things like her are tempted, always tempted, to quash or consume living souls and take their flesh, their life. She's trained herself out of acting on that desire but oh there have been those that did not and killing them can be a real task.
She wants to take it apart, this compartmentalized sub-soul nestled and dormant in intricately designed spellwork. Need holds back. She hasn't lived for as long as she has by being impulsive when she's in situations she doesn't understand, and there doesn't seem to be a time crunch. First, study, as she decides whether and how to make contact.
no subject
Normally when Camilla - anyone, really - picks up an unknown sword they have to take a moment to gauge the feel of it, the weight, the balance. Not this. Its balance is perfect. It weighs three pounds. It feels 'alive' in the poised way that a good sword does in the hand of someone who can evaluate that. Alive, and steady, somehow.
Need doesn't comment or react but studies what she can get through the young woman's senses and reactions. She's conscious, so she doesn't have to reveal her inscription or anything like that, and she is cautious by nature. There's... something about this girl, this Camilla. Something is off about her soul - yes, something is riding it. Someone, rather.
If a mind can be compared to a house then there is someone else in this one, tucked up in a closet or a chest while its occupant goes about her business of living. Need, creeping soundlessly into that house like a mist, takes an instant, automatic dislike. Of course long-dead bodiless things like her are tempted, always tempted, to quash or consume living souls and take their flesh, their life. She's trained herself out of acting on that desire but oh there have been those that did not and killing them can be a real task.
She wants to take it apart, this compartmentalized sub-soul nestled and dormant in intricately designed spellwork. Need holds back. She hasn't lived for as long as she has by being impulsive when she's in situations she doesn't understand, and there doesn't seem to be a time crunch. First, study, as she decides whether and how to make contact.