The little girl that was exploring the room dissipated. A man appeared behind Ciara’s seat, his leering grin stretched into a caricature, a mockery of what he’d worn in life. His teeth had no divides between them, making them one bony shelf, and his eyes were stretched into slants by the too-wide grin. A cartoonish appearance.

Roucouler leaned over the top of the chair, and she could hear his whispers, in a French accent. He pitched his voice to distinguish between the two.

“-cohol in there?”

“She had her shadow make it for her. She’s not the type to get drunk, and it’s more of a comfort thing than anything else.“

Wildbow, Worm, E.1