How sweet. How earnestly, utterly, repulsively sweet. If she plucked their heart from their chest and bit down, it would taste of summer - of sun warmed fruits plucked from the unloading barges on the Chionthar.

"What do you want most, then, stranger? You have a task, you have companions, you have the drive to seek your own purpose - I confess, I am accustomed to trying to answer for what others lack in their lives, and amending what I can. What is it then that still feels absent?"

Where can she drive a needle, invisible, to prick them in their sleep and draw out their heartsblood?