She would traipse the border of the forest with silent ease. Only a foot separate her paws from the scent markers as she prowled along the edge of the forest, coral pools staring into the mist. Nostrils quivered, inhaling a scent that was no familiar to her. The scent of the russet woman was gone. Replaced by a fading but familiar stench. Artemis. Lips would curl in distaste. The russet bitch had lost her crown at the jaws of a mere child. But overpowering the white wench was someone unknown. Her eyes would narrow as she brought her hefty form to a halt. Her crown would tip back, a beckoning howl leaving her lips, summoning the alpha of these forests. She had no use for those who weren't in a position of power, she only wanted the ruler. Haunches would recline towards the earth, her silver plume curling around her hips. Her gaze would slice through the fog, waiting for the stranger to materialize. Audits would swivel back and forth, memories of this place flooding her mind. Better times, happier times, for her and her lover at least. A strangled sigh rolled off her tongue. She pushed the tensions of her love life at the back of mind, focusing on the task at hand.

the tempt was too real. also, ais granted me permission to throw art in here! (8

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? weary. this world is wrought by an insipid { and seemingly perpetual } decay, its premises festering with the placid, the apprehensive, and the mundane. yet even the monotony of her surroundings does not quite quell the vehement passion for chaos lurking beneath her calmed exterior -- it only brews, blossoms as her impatience swells. perhaps it is the calm before the storm, the fleeting moment before ultimate obliteration { and the carnage queen can only hope }; though her doubt is present and fervent. regardless of the dull circumstances, it is still her world -- whether it rots in the predictability of peace or thrives within the decadent chasms of sheer PANDEMONIUM -- and with or without her golden throne and prestigious titles to boot. she has been lethargic, restrained by the shackles of her own boredom as she obsessively haunts the confines of her domain in pursuit of any who dared yet invade without the consent of her carmine beauty. the metaphorical crown she had twice seized still halos her temples, yet it is purposely set awry -- crookedly placed atop the slopes of her skull for she had intentionally discarded her tyrannical authority in favor of independence. though her prominence is evident in the immaculacy of her carriage and the irrefutable power of her gait -- she is still the white witch, the pale tyrant queen! and her malevolent presence will not be ridded from this land with such ease. she has bled for the forest and she will retain it as its justified sovereign, and not even fiamette can deny her this right. but it is SHE { lowly adversary! } who contrives such d i s a r r a y in her daily routine, and immediately the phantom deity is immersed in palpable intrigue and utter amusement as she responds to the summons with dutiful persistence. { for who would she be to deny the opportunity for mayhem? } it is the devious gleam to her mismatched gaze that regards the negligent silver wraith with obvious arrogance as she emerges from her misted crypt; and yet, her scarred countenance portrays none of the ramifications of her internal pleasure, contentedly apathetic as her pupils trail every inch of the coward, her gaze heavy with disdain. ?how fitting,? is the saccharine croon that cascades from the elysius? sinful jaws as she halts mere feet away from the apparent ?queen,? shoulders rolling back in their sockets nonchalantly in a physical display of her impassive mindset. ?you?ve another crown you haven?t bled for? the phantom states pointedly, surpassing the increasing urge to sneer. ?but your crown won't hide the fact that you are no queen.? the elysius is bold -- fearless -- and yet she is not wrong to assume of the woman?s repetitive negligence; if there was a challenge, she would have flocked to it to watch this woman c r u m b l e. alas, she had never been presented with such an alluring opportunity -- not yet. table by lu, avatar by chelsea.

It is the call of a stranger that rings out across her territory, the summon instantly grasping her attention while peaking her curiosity. A visitor? She has not had a visitor show up at her borders yet, only the wolves who had shown up to her summon had dared to trail at her borders. So, she can only wonder who it was, and why they were calling for the alpha of Apollyon. Perhaps it was an alpha from another pack, seeking to gain information or alliances? She does not think into it much more before she turns on her heels, her body swinging to face the direction of the call. She sprints off toward the borders, not bothering to conserve her energy as her thirst for knowledge takes over her limbs and propels herself forward. As she glides over the earth silently she covers a lot of ground within a short amount of time, and as she draws near the scents of other canines engulf her lungs. As Artemis's perfume registers in her mind she immediately stops, her right brow cocking as she aims to remain hidden within the thick blanket of fog. Slowly and silently she treads forward, making sure to avoid any leaves or twigs that could give herself away. Two figures within the mist become visible, and she can barley tell them apart. She hears Artemis speak, rancor lacing her tones. Does she know this other wolf already? And if so, how? The carmine empress remains where she is, concealed within the mist, her gaze locked on the duo as she waits to see what will happen next. "Speech"

ooc- fia is gunna hide out for a sec and see how cat reacts to art