“She is not Miss Nadine,” Signet said, looking down lovingly at the new tattoo. “She is a blood and ink elemental, and she is a combination of the remains of who she was and of my personal memories of her. She is like a living portrait painted with her blood. But she is not real. Not in the sense you’re asking. She is a facsimile. A loving memory.” As I watched, the caterpillar straightened and then formed into a young, female chee wearing a long, flowing skirt. She looked up at the ogre, wide-eyed. A smaller, child chee appeared, peeking out from behind her skirt. Next to me, Holger gasped.
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