Hell's Bells

Persephone nodded at his explanation for his wound, and yet a shiver crawled up her spine. What if Cormalin and his sister had not been in the nearby proximity? The poor fae would have ended up like herself, a play toy for the likes of a coy male. She had spent her adolescent years as nothing more than a concubine, a rare trophy for another's shelf. She visibly shuddered as memories flooded over her before she pushed them aside. She had already been found by Cormalin in a weakened state, she did not need him thinking even less of her.

"What are you good at?" She blinked, mulling over the question of her mind. What /was/ she good at? Now that she thought of it she had never had the chance to test her abilities. She was not even granted the graces of a first hunt before her life was pulled beneath her feet. She spent a life of near solitude except for the opportunities when her captor felt the need to sashay his prize around his camp. She found herself almost choking on the fact that she knew about as much as a pup when it came to pack life. An embarrassed look crossed her features and she took a nervous swallow of air, trying to think of what she had been best at before.

Her head tilted and amber gaze fixated on the ground as she fought to remember a life that felt so unnatural and foreign to her. "When I was younger, I was very keen to other's scent. I could tell when a pack mate was approaching and who it was long before my childhood friends could even pick the scent up." She raised her head, swelling with a small amount of pride "I'm sure I must still be good at it!" She exclaimed.