But it was only the most welcomed of whispers that would kiss as razored butterflies within his coral harks, beating wings that pounded fragile air; words that formed within the spiralling gusts of their endeavours would leave his mind refreshingly youthful, a momentary sense of wonder growing with the nurtured caverns of the seniors skull. If there was a woman who wore pale gowns and seduced you in her dreams it would be she, so beautifully crafted in a manner that could entice any man to kneel at her will. But it is only the stupid that would appreciate her for her unspoiled beauty; her power is far more alluring, the blood that stains her fangs scream of damage dealt only by the prevailing. She?s like a drug, but not an addiction; you do not miss her or crave her, but she will haunt your mind. And Isardis would seek her only now, not in lust and not in pine? but as if it had been dared upon him, as if the devil himself suggested such an outrageously fascinating reunion to be. She bothered him to no end, she had slipped from his grasp effortlessly when he had fallen ill, and yet the cherry monster thought himself mad to do something about it. No, he had seen her wrath. So today, even now when his crown did not sit high atop his temples, he would come to assess, and possibly to plead; to drool at her feet and ensure it was not his spine she sought to break. Because together? the duo could have been a force to be reckoned with, but would she see him as an ally or as foe? Would she prove him unwise and strip herself of admiration, wholly because he had passed his throne? He would meander by her borders, perhaps daring to take just one stride over her boundaries? taxing, absorbed, seeking his heroin.

It is with regal diligence that the phantom deity unravels from the compacted underbrush of her domain, serpentining through the perpetual mists shrouding her home with the refined carriage of a fledgling queen -- immaculate, assertive, militaristic. Whispers caught on the wind relayed to her of his imminent presence lingering at her threshold, the prominence of his scent enticing to aphrodisiacs and queens alike; yet their reunion { of which the paladin finds overdue } is an alluring prospect on its own, coaxing the Elysius wraith from the confines of her den with palpable intrigue. Despite the vague sensation of trepidation that flares within her broadened chest cavity, the tyrant adorns the impeccable guise of apathy ----- not even the faintest smirk present upon frayed lips. Uncertainty, however, lurks within the silver and violet prisms of glowering eyes, for it is only indifference that she harbors towards the albino sovereign --- indifference that has manifested during her absence from Glaciem, and indifference earned through the tacit alliance with the red titan. With her abrupt departure, her allegiance has w a v e r e d; currently, the strength festering within her bones belonged to her kin, and there it would remain, her purpose found.



With the faintest twitch of sinew beneath taut flesh, she regards him --- methodical in her approach as she soundlessly glides towards him, enclosing their proximities down to a mere few feet with the proficient grace she had lacked in her youth. Grotesque is the countenance now that overlooks his own, tainted with { healing } lacerations that serve as testimonies to her various feats; facial beauty CORRUPTED by battle --- and yet, she is all the more astounding in her decadent state. As she halts in her stride, her pupils hungrily ravage his own physique ----- curious as to how the titan had fared in her absence. ?My, how the tables have turned,? the croon baits the atmosphere, lack of venomous intent and yet amusement is not revealed in the depths of her speech either --- it is a simple fact she intends to shed light upon. And while he no longer embellishes his metaphorical crown, she can only contemplate why he had allowed it to willingly slip from his covetous grasp; did he no longer possess the ambition that had persuaded her into his proximities when she had been so young and impressionable? They were curiosities she wished to slake --- she would derive this information from him as he would extract whatever information he desired from her; why else would he have sought her presence if not for selfish intent? Though he would not take without giving.

In the very moment such elegant imperfection marvels within the rubies of his keen gaze, he is sure that he has prepared the true article, presented himself in only the timeliest manner? sure that his obsessive seeking and frothing desires were for only the paramount reasoning. She is no longer a lamb, but a woman; the infantile weapon he had once known her to be, now blossomed as only the greatest of swords within the finest armoury. He feels her presence prickle his spine, and the ghoul is intensely bothered by the fact she is no longer his, itching aggravations tempt his mind into a salivating frenzy of domineering power? alas, he mustn?t give to their mindless luring. Now, he is calm, composed, well-dressed. He relishes her splendour and their proximities, dining upon her grand existence with rubies known only to greedily feast. He is placed no differently to the past, though his crown no longer halo?s his temples, he is as much a king as he was before. However it takes no more than the glistening intent within her planed words to smother his fluttering content, to stab pins ruthlessly beneath his pores. His coral towers flick backwards, though the man will relentlessly strive to suggest he his careless for her lips treason, he is wholly and utterly offended. ?With no thanks to your efforts, ivory bludgeon,? oh how he so innocently addresses her by the pet name he had given her that time ago, though his lyrics do not suggest as such, his intention is pale, taunting. So effortlessly his plans will morph; though he will still seek to allure her, perhaps it will not be now? for their reunion is not as sweet as the cherry monster imagined it to be. His haunches buckle beneath him, and though he is always ready, Isardis will suggest a near carelessness for her new stature within his poor seating. Does he seek to taunt her? Perhaps. How could one so proud ever expect to be greeted with the half-hearted whatever-ness she so carelessly presented him moments bfore? His opinion of her remains the same, she is immense in his mind; but he will not yield to her words, he will not be her victim. He is the deity of goad himself, she is merely his follower. ?Does the victorious insurgent seek to hold her throne, or discard it as mindlessly as she did before?? she may believe he had plummeted in royalty, but she is no greater than he.

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? she indulges within the ardor of his scrutiny, basking beneath it with the confidence only a { proven } monarch might possess; and yet, her stance retains its neutrality despite the vehement onslaught of emotion coursing beneath her apathetic guise. confusion is most prominent within the chasms of her churning mind as her mismatched gaze devours all he is --- a glorified sovereign who had endeavored to construct a vicious empire from the ground up, who had achieved success with his unyielding diligence. though obscured beneath the supremacy he is lavished in, the fledgling tyrant discerns traits she finds most dangerous and disconcerting --- he is undeniably intelligent, and with his vast intellect accompanies a manipulative demeanor that even the phantom had fallen victim to in her youth. the albino titan is gifted with the proficiency to charm and to influence the subservient beneath his will; and although the elysius wraith cannot loathe him for having guided her during taxing times, she can demonstrate that she is no longer a pawn whose strength he can ABUSE. she is no longer his sheep, nor is he her shepherd; they are equal in the { potentially biased } eyes of the pallid deity.




although he does not outwardly portray his resentment, it is nearly palpable in his speech as it worms through the apprehensive atmosphere to chill her spine accordingly; however, the wraith remains unflinching beneath the pressure of his festering wrath. rather, a singular brow quirks upon her forehead with mild intrigue as he bestows upon her a familiar title, though his speech evidently lacks nostalgic tendencies. ?au contraire --- my efforts brought me here, and left your kin without a crown,? she informs him, the faintest hint of pride lacing her words as her tails furls about supple thighs. she does not know of the relation between the russet pawn { of whose crown she had rightfully seized } and the albino before her --- though she knew the woman to be bound by the armada surname of which isardis had made I N F A M O U S. regardless, she examines the former sovereign as he reclines upon his haunches { almost defiantly }, and mirrors his position merely feet away; and yet, despite the evident tension lurking between them, the desire to encroach upon his space is t e m p t i n g. her resolve to portray stark indifference within his presence until he learns she is no longer his to taunt, however, keeps the phantom firmly rooted upon her borders and away from his proximities.




his inquiry garners a brief flare of fury to ignite beneath her rigid exterior, though she merely pierces him with her abstract gaze ----- coolly. ?and if i did abandon my throne, would it matter to you?? the tyrant retaliates, for she knows that she is useless to him if she does not have power within her grasp; he would not mourn her absence, and she does not doubt that he had been impassive towards her previous abandonment. ?though you can rest assured that i still seek glory for myself and my family --- and i will fight to keep my earnings,? a promise she has engraved into her own flesh, whose ramifications are visible within the sincerity gleaming beneath the silver and violet prisms of her eyes and the severity laden within her tones.

As the twisting language of her femininity begins to soil his mind, he can only grow ever so bothered by her impervious air of poise. Beneath him most would deteriorate, perhaps not in fear or humiliation, but defence... repugnance. Alas, her retaliations are far from impressive; rather she sustains the uncomforting similarities of his own; as if his words would fail to reveal any suggestions of sentiment. No, her mismatched gaze is as cold and rhythmical as the northern oceans that encompass what was once his flourishing Kingdom, a world that may well and truly be forming a wasteland within his simmering mind. And yet he is utterly surprised by her next declaration, pondering mutely who it could have been that soiled the titles of his progeny; who it was that sought leadership and failed to sustain it. No doubt, one of the few who refused to accept the reality of the Armada's, perhaps a son or daughter previously brainwashed by Taurig's reckless antics all that time ago. Still, he attempts to appear as though it is all saluted information, "Kin by name and blood perhaps, but what good is a polished blade when it's carrier knows little how to use it?" oh how ravenous he is to know who she speaks of. And yet he refuses to recognize she knows something that he does not, ruby gaze contented within the lies he shares with her. Her quarters will seat as willingly as his own, ripples of apprehension obscuring the portrait of their simultaneous reflection. She threatens to disclose a glimmer of exasperation, his pale lashes far too reluctant to blink as if he is afraid to miss even the most negligible suggestion of triumph; though she fails to delight his ego. "Knowledge is power, little bludgeon," he chuckles weakly, a faint sway forming within the supple joints of his forelimbs, a bliss induced by his sudden sensation of perception. If there is one thing he knows she cannot compare, it is his wholesome experience- and his skull will swell and pound with an animated pleasure in his own personal understanding of raw might. Regretfully, the pallid ghoul can relate to her expressions, and yet cherry lips will fail to declare such similarities; now, she does not merit his affairs. Upon her preceding verse he will muse, snide; savouring within her sudden need to defend herself; "Bravo, silver darling- I applaud your blossoming wisdom; for some day you will be a queen!" his silent pause is deafening, disturbing, "But until your fallen foes lay bloodied and quaking beneath your unwanted existence, and until the population cringes upon your name and seeks to destroy all you've taught them to abhor... you are but a princess with a loose-fitting crown." They are no words of hatred; veiled deep beneath his chords suggests an admiration only the observant may discover. Though he dares her to be affronted, it is far from his intention; no, Isardis can see grand persistence in her, but he has changed his mind... he will not descend beneath her toes, though he is yet to see such vigour in any other youth, he is far too excited and self-righteous to offer his reverence so readily. Had the babe any wits and aspiration, she would reveal his buried truth; find intelligent sincerity within a voice so many had grown to recognise as only foul and polluted. His lips continue to flutter, pleasure as light as moths wings upon his coral snout; though he knows she may well snap he appears utterly oblivious to the possibilities, ?I will observe your royal transition religiously; and should you ever seek a verified King, you may well know where to find one.? As his pale quarters would climb with irrefutable composure, it was a brittle suggestion of a potential departure- but what would she make of his bitter-sweet confrontations?

this is a repost.

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? he is of a pompous demeanor, and his defensive speech only demonstrates such a fact as he presumes that his fallen kin is incompetent in the macabre art of battle -- and discards the possibility that the battle prowess of the elysius tyrant is simply greater. however, she refrains from commenting on the skill { or lack thereof } of the fallen russet queen in favor of practiced stoicism and enigmatic silence, mismatched gaze unwavering and unblinking from his own coral -- subtly defiant and frigid. she harbors no ill-will towards the albino titan despite what her exterior displays; the phantom only hopes to exhume an aura of splendor, of newfound independence that she has gained with age and through her self-imposed duty as her kin?s matriarch. though internally the deity cannot help but doubt that her former sovereign harbors even the slightest amount of respect for her or her various achievements; she cannot help but doubt that there will ever come a time where he does not think himself superior to her -- that he will never believe he does not possess her like any of his other pawns. but she is a QUEEN -- a battered soul who seeks no guidance other than that which she can offer to herself; and he is but a fragment of her past left to haunt her.



as his resonant baritones pervade the deafening silence, her jaw stiffens in vexation, outrage! yet as the albino proceeds, the tyrant surpasses such intense indignation as truth is revealed within the depths of his bitter vocals -- one did not obtain glory through the mere thieving of a crown, and the phantom knows she has yet a long journey ahead of her on her route to total infamy. had it been any other dreg of alacritia who had suggested such, the queen would have scoffed and destroyed; yet he is no dreg, nor is he plagued by negligence -- he has earned the prestige bestowed upon him for he truly had stood victorious over the quivering bodies of those who dared oppose him. so the elysius does not seek to reprimand him for such claims, nor does she challenge them for they are true. ?baby steps, isardis,? is the promise which erupts from gluttonous jaws like silk; she is diligent and he would be a fool to believe otherwise, to believe that she would find satisfaction in partial success! no -- she had only just begun.



it is when his haunches ascend from the earth that the deity deciphers their reunion has adjourned, and she, too, mimics his action, pupils still intently focused upon his own. at his final sentiment { laden with palpable arrogance }, the phantom finally allows the faintest flicker of emotion to dance across her countenance, the ghost of a bedeviled smirk tugging briefly at velveteen lips as she regards him with amusement. ?and i will look for you where the chaos unfolds,? the elysius informs him, fully understanding that, while the titan had abandoned his throne, it was highly unlikely that he had truly retired. no, her former king is not one to lurk within the shadows -- he seeks to bask in his own limelight, and she knows that he will again. as the grin ebbs away from her visage, she pivots back towards her cryptic keep, slipping through the mists with immaculate grace befitting of the crown which halos her temples and out of his proximities.

--- exeunt artemis