[center][h2][b]Ophelia[/b][/h2][/center]

"Oh, dearest, it isn't just you--they really do understand you. I can see it: the touch of the Nightmare is strong upon them. I'm so very glad they have such a [color=gray]nice old man[/color] to look after them. I could while away many hours discussing their beauty with you... but I'm afraid we do not currently have that sort of time. When Mother Moon looks down upon them, though... I will most certainly find a way to join you then, no matter what it takes." She began, letting her gaze sweep over the gardens as a wide and almost dopey grin settled across her face.

"Indeed so, there were others--though according to Dietrich here, I cannot really be counted in the same way that they can. I alone was the bearer of true Paleblood. There are a few, but the rest... I do not think any of them will awaken. Look here..." Ophelia began,  reaching over to grab the glass jar of eyes that she had on her person. She held it up to the incandescent light of the Lumenflowers, certain their eyes would want to look at it too, and motioned with her head towards the frayed, scourge-ridden eyes of the failed Paleblood Hunter, with just a hint of the black ichor clinging to them.


"The scourge seems to have taken some of them before they ever had a chance, maybe four or five, and the rest remain sleeping but... I don't understand how that could be the case?" Ophelia began, her brows furrowing and eyes narrowing in confusion. She shifted the Holy Moonlight Greatsword uncomfortably about her person, causing her braid to glitter and glimmer in the last dregs of sunlight as the dying light hit it. "I won't claim to know what goes into making a Hunter, but... surely it can't be something that would turn them into [b]beasts[/b], of all things?"