the sky is red, does that mean its made for me?

Calliope didn't rather care for anyone but herself. Sometimes her family, but that was on the odd chance she was feeling... nice. So when the female pulls back, requesting some space, it simply brought a wicked smirk to her pale lips. "Maybe I'd like to be in your space," she teases, enticed by the quiet growl in the woman's throat. With a slight cant of her head, she watches the stranger, eyes blinking slowly, assessing and maybe attempting to intimidate the shorter female. But the moment is lost when both of their attentions are dragged to the wailing spires.

The statement about something not being right brings a snort from Cal's nose. "Ya don't say?" One arched brow in question as the sarcasm drawls out each syllable. "One day it ain't here and now it is. Nothin' good comes from shit like this," she says it like she's been there, done that. Technically, she has. If her memory suited her correctly, the scar on her back left leg and the 6" scar along her throat were stark reminders of the odd wolf-dogs that had once transported her to a dreamlike world. Would these spires do the same?

A chill rolls down her spine as another wail from the spires lights the skies. "Maybe they point somewhere specific," Cal mentions, her pastel gaze moving away from the spire beside them to the others.

"Speech"