"A Ghūl." You say flatly. "...as in, a Ghoul?"
You stand before them, your expression monotone, your eyebrows frozen in an arched, expectant position. You show no revulsion--only curiosity.
Roisin looks at you, tears welling in her eyes, before rushing off to one of the vardos.
Micaja nods, “Yes, but you could have phrased it more gently. Ghoul isn't exactly the most polite of terms. Did you think you were human, like me?”
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"Alright Micaja." I say, taking a bite of the meat on my plate. "How about you and I sit down over there while I eat, and you can fill me in. What do you say?"
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