A look of vague interest crossed Death's visage as Eliza spoke of her demon. He was quiet, absently circling the top of his tea cup with the tip of his finger while he momentarily pondered her words. He almost looked remorseful, though it was hard to tell through what was generally an empty, emotionless gaze. "I see...you haven't just yet gone blind." Crossing one leg over the other, Death locked his finger in his lap and sat back in the creaky wooden chair. "Poor little sapling choked by a weed. How far can you grow before you are freed?" Death's voice seemed sympathetic. He stared into Eliza eyes, prying into the soul. Eyes were like windows after all. Behind the tainted innocence of her mortal soul was the hallowed darkness of a demon within. It was easy for Death to see the vile form of Disease. "And what of you...pestilence?" His voice was sightly harsh now, his tone biting. "How has life been treating you? Only healthy habits I presume."