Cheth's red strings abandon the swordsman, and take over a young seamstress's ghost.
Cheth: Fine, then - how about needlework? All high-class girls are good at that, right?
Phaedra taps her cheek in thought.
Phaedra: I'm decent. But I wouldn't want to make a challenge out of it...
Cheth's red strings abandon the seamstress, and take over a dark-haired girl and a man with a turban. They hold a chessboard between them.
Cheth: Chess? It's a classic choice.
Phaedra: You must've played millions of chess games. I can't defeat a grandmaster.
Cheth's red strings take over a round-faced writer, a thin painter, and a bearded mathematician. He's beginning to look angry.
Cheth: Poetry? Painting? Calculus?!
Phaedra looks perturbed.
Phaedra: No, no, and - ...oh DEFINITELY no.
Cheth gets enraged, and confronts Phaedra with the skeletal soul of a tyrannosaurus rex. Red strings surround him and the black tattoos rake his arms and spine. He roars in her face as other spirits look unamused in the background.
Cheth: If you're trying to annoy me, you're succeeding. For gods' sake, pick something.
Phaedra raises her arms, terrified.
Phaedra: Okay! Okay! Sorry.