Shredder XII
“Anibel,” Gerard echoed, rolling around events in his mind when a thought crystallized, “But that is still not your name. Just what I may call you.”
Anibel flashed the ghostly wisp of a smile his way, “I knew I liked you for a reason. Sharp as the wyvern’s claw you are.”
Gerard’s face descended into shades of sunset as he blubbered around the booming of his heart. Was he flirting with a spirit? The thought stomped into his demeanor with necromantic abandon, and his features sobered into stony ridges.
“Are you alright, Gerard?”
“I’m just not overly comfortable,” he started, before changing tack, “I’ve never cavorted with the dead before.”
Anibel’s snort rattled with the scraping of autumn leaves, “I wouldn’t call this cavorting exactly.” Gerard’s unflinching somber facade brought the Halfling spirit back to a more practical vein. “My apologies for intruding upon your sleep,” she said, “But I need you to do something for me…and you’re not going to like it.”