Hunting a Witch

Sylas takes the mirror, setting it in his lap. "What do I say? 'Hey, I'm a Death Scythe, but one of my legs is shattered, my left arm has a hole in it, and I'm covered in slash marks'?"

He sets the mirror on a side table, running a hand through his unwashed hair. "If you've got something else you'd rather be doing, don't hold yourself back on my account...I'm not going anywhere."

Sylas sighs sleepily. "I just want to be home with my wife...."

Sylas smiles weakly. "No. I thank you for the offer, but I think we'll be returning sooner than I think. I doubt I'll be here more than a few days longer...I can wait."

Sylas lays his head back. "What's it like, being a Death Scythe? I feel....different, but...it's hard to put into words..."

Sylas squeezes his good hand then focuses on it. An axe blade extends from the side and he gives it an experimental wave, wincing as he pulls some muscles in his left arm. "W-Well...not having to sacrifice a hand or foot is nice..."

He smiles. "I wonder how things will change....how I will change."

Sylas closes his eyes, seemingly asleep. After half an hour, he speaks. "Do you regret it? Joining the Academy, becoming a Death Scythe...?"

Sylas nods, eyes still closed. After another half hour he speaks again. "Should I?"

Sylas nods again, this time finally falling asleep.

Sylas stirs in the middle of the night, wincing in his sleep. He frowns lightly, shifting position slightly, obviously troubled by some dream.

Nothing appears wrong aside from the fact that Sylas looks heavily troubled, his head moving slightly from side to side.