Against her initial intuition she found it now a delight to waltz into a room, a space filled with tables of peons and lackeys, the Wolf in her eyes staring them down, tall and impassive. Their heads would turn, eyes reaching for signs of duplicity or deception, treachery in anything and everything that she did, before slowly turning to quiet fear as she began to prowl. The clicking of her claws against marble floors, long scratches etched into hardwood, a hand dragging harshly against the backs of their chairs.