Ah. It's the young woman whose soul he'd rather like to pick apart under a microscope. But, you know, in a friendly way.

The God of Necromancers looks up at the— girl, construct, necromantic marvel?— who'd commiserated with him over magic flowers. He makes no move to correct The guy from the graveyard as his working title, and just tips his head in hello.

"It doesn't seem there's much luck to be had." He flips his book shut, and gently sets it back upon the stack. "But I can at least point you in the direction of my latest failures, if you've come to look up something specific. Might save you a bit of time skimming."