A dark, knowing, almost predatory smile. “Good morning, my lovelies,” she all but purred, her barely gray locks pulled back into an elegant mass of curls at the back of her head, her lips painted a deep red, her eyes sparkling with an impish light Griff mistrusted. “Tilda,” Minerva greeted in the smallest voice known to humankind. The dancing eyes flicked to her, a neat hand with long, slender fingers reaching out to tip her chin up into the light. “Mirrors. I’ve said it before, but you are a beautifully blank canvas, my dear girl. I can do anything with you. Such a treat.”
