There are no pleasant nights in this town. As day turns to night and the mortals retire, Caedra simply continues her wandering and writing and alternates between reflecting on the misery of a place where the dead come back to life and their souls are held beyond her reach, and actively trying to avoid thinking about the tedium such a place lends to her life. She's a caged creature here with everything she wants - food, freedom, and loved ones - just outside the impermeable bars.

The voice that announces itself isn't likely to change that, she figures, but at least it breaks the monotony. She turns toward him with the sea at her back, more amused than threatened, but she summons her sword to her hand nonetheless. It's an effective warning, as it fills out its shape in the air and settles comfortably in her palm. It reminds some of these idiots that she'll gladly draw it on them even if their deaths are temporary, because at least their screams and the scent of blood are entertaining if not fulfilling.

"Does it? That's a bold claim. Who are you to make such a dramatic statement?"

She can see perfectly in the dark, of course - a power granted long ago by someone she misses dearly. But it doesn't help her identify this person. Even without the mask, she might not recognize him beyond the general vague familiarity that everyone has here from being contained in a few small islands.