"This is not the time for cantrips, Histoire," Deus stated, vaguely bothered by the smile plastered on Histoire's very genial yet pale, spectral face. An ominous inkling lingered in the back of Deus' mind as he slowly approached her. Something was amiss. Histoire watched him with polychromatic, emerald orbs. Her face was what was full of color, sheer color that could vanish at any moment. He wanted the colors to vanish. What he wanted to see was the trepidation she felt that night when he left her with Keren. The cautious Histoire who was fearful and would never let her guard drop as she had at the moment. It was almost as though she was not aware of the perilous state of affairs she was tangled in.