The end of the west arrived in the form of a frost-covered forest. It was snowing in Dewmire, the sleepy little village covered in white. Yet beyond that still was a stately cottage, nestled in a snowy meadow, just before the forest line.
Inside the cottage, the hearth blazed, a tray of tea and hot biscuits sat on a table, ignored for the stack of playing cards instead. It was a snowy morning, as usual.
Dulce was in a cheery mood, pleased that he had found company content to do the mundane with him. He was the only one smiling at the table, while the Demons all glared each other down like they had blades drawn underneath the table.
Kath'tan had discovered a useful skill in keeping his thoughts off his face, he simply had to look angry the entire time, an easy task. After all, the foolish Incubus smiled all the time regardless of the cards he possessed.
