This isn't her job

Hel's vanilla perfume curled around her like a sleepy cat as the young woman was pushed down into the seat opposite her. She sat unflinchingly in her white, prim cloak laced shut down to her stomach, despite the other woman's apparent suffering. Between them stood a humble wooden table. Torches lit the stone walls, and the feeling of time's meaninglessness was as suffocating as the musty air. How many years had this woman lost here due to her stubbornness? The scroll she clutched with dainty white hands had this information. For a moment, she closed her eyes in a way that made her look as if she were praying to the Maker. Actually, she was recalling the image of the scroll, settling her eyes on the number that curled with chantry cursive. Quite some time. Her eyes opened fiercly.

"Mari," she said lacing the word's loveliness with ice.

"I've been told quite a bit about you. I've heard your name many times in passing. Perhaps too many times. And I'm not someone you want hearing about your... misgivings," she emphasized. Patronizing glinting flicks of mica speckled the hard rockiness of her words. Her eyes roved the woman now, judgements seeping in. Hypothesis.  She paused to read the woman's expressions, greedily lapping them up. She had heard about the mage, the daughter of a powerful apostate. When she had first seen the lady, a glimpse across a crowded room of officials, 'stuck pig,' she had thought and nothing more. But little cracks in this first impression began to form over time, and now, here she was - begged to scare Maricara Caddel straight - not her job, but she was curious. Her gaze scritched all over the woman with light claws. 

"Do you know why you shouldn't want them getting back to me?" she asked, tilting her head angelically to the side.