The image would be apropos, more than she probably knows at the moment. Unlike others might, Kravitz doesn’t recoil from the thought or sight of something dead and dismembered; it is his realm, and has been for many, many years.

“Ah, well— they’re signifiers of my service to my Lady.” He puts the emphasis there, careful not to lose the importance. “The Raven Queen, that is, my patron and to whom I give my service.”

He pauses a moment, something slightly odd occurring to him. Do gods exist across different worlds? Is there a Raven Queen everywhere? Does she even know who he’s talking about? He clears his throat, intent on clarifying. “Have you, uhm, a god or goddess of Death? That preserves the natural order of things, makes sure no one breaks the uh, rules, as it were.”