The hardest learned lessons

Sultry lyrics purred through the hiss of steam in the wintry air like a siren call, perking Alastor’s red-tipped ears atop his crown. Those abyssal black eyes scanned around for the source of the voice. She wasn’t in any of the pools he could see, but his keen nose and tracking skills had brought him to within feet of her. Once Scylla began to move Alastor noticed her, the subtle shift of motion through the mist catching his obsidian eyes like a hawk. The giant brute had known Scylla likely wouldn’t want to be found, but he hadn’t really given her that choice. Alastor was a little bit possessive of the wolves he cared about that way.

Alastor turned to face Scylla while she slunk closer towards him, her diminutive form almost comically small compared to his mountainous size. He took a couple steps closer as she approached him to help close the distance, and once they stood before one another, only then did he give her one of his characteristic smiles. Not manic or demented the way she had seen in their midnight fit of passion, but a genuine show of teeth, happy to see her again. She looked… well, not quite well, but not struggling either. She was fed and her coat was groomed as it usually was. She was at least taking care of herself. Scylla had always been a fiercely independent fae.

"Why, I was looking for you, my dear," answered the dark brute earnestly, dropping his haunches to the ground to sit more comfortably while they spoke. "I wanted to make sure you were well after your sudden departure from Elysium. You know Manea and I care a great deal about your wellbeing." Call him an eternal father type, Alastor couldn’t sleep in peace without knowing the young woman he considered like a daughter to him was safe, sound, and healthy. The smile slowly fell from Alastor’s muzzle, his obsidian eyes softening as he regarded the slate and cream fae with something akin to paternal affection, though far more intimate. "Are you well, Scylla?"

"Alastor Mendacium"