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It would have been a lie to say she wasn't pleased. Misery ran a gentle hand over the girl's fragile skull, her other hand clutching her sleek black cane to keep her up. The girl knew her Gods. Larkspur was a good, faithful boy. Trading Anzu - even if he had been a lovely, handsome companion - for the brute had been a good trade. Would you have traded me? Misery ignored Damian - she had the luxury of doing so now that he lived within, but his question unsettled her. His half melted cross still hung around her thin neck, a relic of so long ago. She would die with that relic around her. A soft, gentle laugh escaped her as she lovingly petted the young puppy. "Oh no, little one. Ankh would not dare venture out at night, not unless she truly had to. I am Misery, your grandmother." Saving Larkspur's life made him her Mother, at least in her book. He was her son, just as Gin had been. He had been luckier than Gin though, the sickness of their dirty blood hadn't touched him so deeply. It seemed this stuttering puppy was rather bright, if not nervous. "But I know of Rah'khir. I know of Ankh. I was born to Tak though, he who walks behind the rows. The walking man." A million names for the devil.
Misery had been born into darkness and come out into the light. The Khalif believed her blessed, she believed it madness. A life like hers wasn't blessed. She had the luck of a devil though, despite leaping into pyre's and testing and bedding madmen she still lived. "And you are Eris's girl. Do you have any siblings, my Vögelchen?" Perhaps the girl knew the holy tongue, perhaps not. But it wouldn't stop Misery from falling into it.