Reynault has a cranky
Bony fingers rattled on the tabletop, a staccato beat of frustration and impatience. Their owner scowled at the piles of notes before him, not really seeing the arcane diagrams and dense clusters of letters anymore.
It wasn't working. Why wasn't it working?
Everything was perfect. The diagrams were as precise as artificially enhanced undead flesh could make them. Every reagent was of the highest quality, the exact purity required for the ritual. Every action had been performed exactly as it should have been. But it hadn't worked.
Why wouldn't the magic answer him anymore?
He could hear his assistants moving around in the old manor they'd taken over. He'd been lucky, had found some within the Apothecaries that actually practiced what they preached, or tried to at least. If his luck held, the Banshee Queen didn't realize what they were working for. If they were all truly lucky, she wouldn't find out until they'd succeeded. If they succeeded.
Too much depends on luck. Dammit, why didn't it WORK?
The table crashed against the far wall, papers flying everywhere, an inkwell exploding in a thousand shards and a gout of black. In its rack across the room, his runeblade stirred, responding to the surge of rage like a shark smelling blood. The old hunger stirred in the back of his ruined throat, a pulse that was almost like a heartbeat, so warm and inviting amidst all the chill and grey. Blood, it whispered, silky sweet. Blood...
"M-mister Fairweather?"
One of his assistants, probably come to investigate the noise. He didn't even need to turn to identify her, he knew her voice.
her scent
can practically taste her
Teeth ground together, and he forced his hands to relax from where they'd clutched into claws. His blade shifted in its brackets again, hungry, impatient with his restraint. But in the end, powerless against his will. For as long as his will held.
"Is... is everything alright?"
"No, Elizabeth," he sighed, keeping his gaze on the ruined table and scattered notes. He did not turn to face the timid physician he knew stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry for disturbing you. Please, return to your studies."
"...yes sir."