Well, warmed by the molting feathery-embrace of sake and haunt-topics, the blackest midnight had, but barely flinched when touched. The demon-akuma tangled inside of her stringed locket of bone soothed her funeral thoughts with the numbing hisssssss and recoil, that displaying weakness to such a weaker deity was unacceptable. All this wordlessly and in the not so foreign tongue of only impression. Weaker? What was weaker? Konchuu!
Spirit was repeated with her snow-white fingers as repose and distraction, tongue between her teeth as if caging the audible release of her laughter, rattling the bones to stir in the cauldron of arcanum between them. Somehow learning his secret language was amusing to her, but there was one word left she needed him knowing. And so, finishing up with her fresh vaunt of swift-to-learn, What happened, spirit! she thrilled an unsteady right-reach over to the bonedust wall and 'wrote' with the tip of a coffin-nail while pointing to her ribcage (or was that the word 'miss'?):