If Seraphina had been smiling brightly before, the mention of the girl's sister had the woman positively beaming. "Heroes are stupid and blinded by their own principles," she told the child. "That's very impressive." And it was, especially since this one wasn't being raised by demons at all. Such potential! Seraphina would have happily claimed her as her own if she'd been the one to inflict her on the world.
Seraphina raised an eyebrow at the little outburst, but showed no outward sign of how unsettling that was. For a moment her own black heart was racing in surprise - no, she would not admit to fear - but she refused to be overcome by it. This child was Fear, but Seraphina would be damned (ha) if she ever succumbed to such a thing. "To a point," she answered. "My mother raised me to fear no one but her. She taught me to master my own emotions in favor of what I could do to others. Fear is not for my kind - our kind. It is something we inflict, not experience ourselves." In short, fear was for the weak, and Seraphina couldn't help but see this child as a delightful little challenge. "I would help you, you know. But I would resist your influence, and that may make you angry."