[ It's a long, repetitive process. Make the cut, soak it, draw out what metal they can and rust the rest to uselessness. But it's working, at least a little. The bruises are ugly oranges and greens, but they're no longer that dark colour. The words that were there are impossible to find. Sypha grows weary but not sloppy. Her hands don't shake as she sews the cuts she's made back together once Alucard's work is done. Moth silk, at least, they have no shortage of. ]
That may be all we can do for now. [ She says, washing the place on the ground where the pile of iron was with the salt water. Just to be safe. ]
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That may be all we can do for now. [ She says, washing the place on the ground where the pile of iron was with the salt water. Just to be safe. ]