SMALL LIVES (Murder, open)

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It seemed as if Feyre simply couldn't catch a break when it came to stumbling across blood-splattered scenes. This one was different though, the victim very much motionless and dead as she paused near Zjarr, seemingly unfazed as she contemplated the intricacies of the murder. She was rather useless in this situation, a mere bystander to tragedy who had been beckoned in by the distressed calls of the leopard. Lavender eyes would blink a few times, a mixture of curiosity and inquiry dancing in them before pale lips parted in question. [color=#3f5351]"Do you want me to see if I can find his ghost?" She said it so simply, so easily, as if locating the ghosts of recently dead clanmates was a typical Thursday evening for her. In a sense, it was. She was so in-tune with the afterlife that she often couldn't escape the whispers of the dead, their presences constantly enveloping her. Searching for this Roy Mustang figure wouldn't be too difficult, right?

She did feel bad though, bothered by her inability to feel anything but intrigue towards this situation. Death had never been something final for her, not when she knew of what awaited somebody on the other side. Was she desensitized to the omnipresent force then? She liked to think so, but that didn't make her feel any better. Not after seeing the distress expressed by Imperia and Thea. At least Onision and Zjarr remained relatively neutral, if not angry (in Oni's case), towards the situation, but that fact did little to chase away the doubt that there was something wrong with her. She didn't have time to think about all that, not when she had offered her services and could not fail to deliver. It seemed especially dire in this situation to find the ghost and thus, find the killer.

Justice had to be served.