It's nearly impossible for him to concentrate enough to give her question consideration. He's too caught up in her face, her voice, and trying to sort out how it could possibly be so familiar. His easiest guess is another descendant.

But it doesn't feel right, and his head is suddenly swimming and gut has a painful twist inside.

"Are you really in the position to be calling people impostors?" he hisses, keeping to his stance, but edging towards a more strategic distance. His knuckles go pale around his scythe.