pandora's box

Trapped in Pandora's box, her head in a blender. Iscariot's homecoming wasn't without trouble, wasn't without turbulence. The time spent gone hadn't been a walk in the park either, though she's healed from the ordeal reasonably. Reasonably enough to throw herself back on the battlefield, back at any target that looked juicy enough. She needs to fight, she needs to let go the pent up aggression in her system. Let it go before she reaches a breaking point.

Predatory steps, head low, gaze bright. All of her is wound tightly, a powder keg on the verge of explosion. On the verge of something terrible, or something beautiful. Knowing her? Both. Both was likely. A stark call over the barren landscape, she's looking for trouble. Looking for mother fucking trouble.

"Iscariot"