Carmilla Carmine was reading through the company’s annual budget and sales. Or any other notes left behind by her employees for her. They were doing well this year, projected to do even better next year too. But it’s Hell, so ya never really know.

She blinked, and the next second when she inhaled air, there was a scent to it. She sniffed it out, smelling dread itself parried with death itself. It reminded her of a time she thought was long gone. She’d sold you her soul in order to get out of a tough situation. Life or death. And you only accepted reaping her soul in return for saving her life. She’d always remember your scent.

But you were gone, for good. Yet she doubted that, if Alastor could make a return after seven long years… then… then…. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to think of what you’d do, if you’d threaten the two young women she called daughters now. She couldn’t bare that thought.

Then, a single hand gently and husked-ly moved over top her flat abnormally-large hand on her desk. Her eyes darted to the hand, then she yanked it out from under your hand.

“You…” She swiveled her chair around as you stepped back to allow her to do so. “You’re back.” Her Spanish accent was stronger since last she and you saw each other. “Carmilla… like what you’ve done with the place, tidied up yourself too…” Your voice was indiscernible of any tone, any cadence, anything. She could tell anything about it, whether you were manipulating her or whether you were actually meaning it. You were strange, someone she couldn’t possibly know the personality of, even after knowing you for such a long time.

Carmilla didn't know you, didn’t know what you’d say, what you’d do. And she couldn’t guess. You were a mystery to her, even as the owner of her and her soul. So she stared at you, trying to guess what you’d say next, if you said anything at all…