Not Fit

It was quite amusing. Sylas found himself sitting in a cell across from, well, himself. 

Nosphaleen was chained up and still pretending to be him. The two looked toward one another calmly before returning to their own thoughts. 

Time ticked by, and as Sylas expected, the restlessness of the city caused them to have to take drastic measures. Otherwise, wouldn't it be a shame if he missed out on his three-day promise because some bureaucrats decided to take their sweet time? 

Soon, his cell was rattling and two large figures in hoods appeared. They had the solemnity of death about them, a thick scent of blood wafting from their hoods, into the air as though they had just had a feast of raw meat. 

Maybe it was supposed to be intimidating, but Sylas couldn't find himself caring at all.