Phaedra turns in her chair to face Cheth, who moves to the other side of her desk. She crosses her arms defiantly.

Phaedra: Then your followers are poorly controlled. And Pavel is well on his way to join their ranks. A fine reason to send him to the Spirefort and get him away from the likes of you. At least... for as long as possible.

Outside the round window, Pavel and Katja look gloomy.

Cheth: Oh STOP, Philemon.

Cheth dangles the scone above his head, crumbs beginning to fall into his open mouth. He's flashing his sharpest set of teeth, and reaches a horrifying tendril of light upward like a tongue.

Cheth We both know that won't be happening, no matter how many times you say it. That boy is your living volunteer, whether you like it or not!

In her chair, Phaedra's ghostly glow begins to flare like a blue flame. She rages, her face shadowed, as her hair begins to float around her. 

With a sudden shout, she screams at Cheth with all the energy she can muster.

Phaedra: WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT, CHETH?

Cheth stops quickly, holding the scone just inside his mouth. He looks stunned. Maybe a little terrified.