Nothing had changed about the office, there were no new jars, the music was the same. Though there was a painting now on display, The Young Martyr.
Ale sat at the desk, looking at floor plans and sketches. Cain, ever loyal, was at her side, head resting on his paws. Maybe sleeping, or maybe not. One could never really tell with a Hell Hound.
Where it wasn’t Court, she was casual in black pants, an oversized white shirt and red colored hair.
Atticus James Steven