[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/MkC2NDh/pandora-header-2.png[/img][/center][hr]Pandora stared at the retreating dark elf with a curious gaze. She cocked her head at the hand wave but didn't react at all to the smirk that probably held a million underlying meanings.

She remained sitting gracefully on the cold stone floor observing as the remaining prisoners quickly decided that their next course of action would be to extract information from the werewolves chief whether he wanted to hand it out or not. A flash of sadness, or maybe pity, was momentarily seen in Pandora's placid eyes as Azrael accosted the beastman.

It wouldn't be long before she rose back to her feet and laid her hands on the angel's arm. Her hold didn't have any strength behind it. If nothing else it was nearly not a hold at all, barely more than a child leaning against an adult, silently pleading with a merciful gaze.

If the werewolf refused to speak out of hatred by these creatures of the depths, maybe it would do so when at least one soul regarded him with what seemed to be genuine mercy. Love, even.

If that didn't work, maybe the strange force compelling him to speak before both his still living brothers and him were murdered in cold blood would.
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