DEATHBEDS

She waits with bated breath, dulled nails subconsciously raking against the icy earth in a futile attempt to soothe her frayed nerves, but it is of no use--her brother?s haggard state has left her on the brink of internal calamity. Familial devotion is what molds the phantom, and without them, she feels like nothing--has no purpose and no one to satisfy; she needs them and feels that they, in turn, require her presence if only to guide them. As the ice queen speaks her piece, the wraith?s attention fixates upon her every syllable, drinking in the words as if her very life depended on it--and in a way, it did. Brows furrow as the woman relays to her of the inconvenience the plague has caused within her own kingdom, and a slight frown tugs at her velveteen lips as the queen informs her that the packs are responsible for spreading this virus. This only causes further contempt towards Arcanum to flare within her chest and yet she cannot dwell upon this rage for long due to this paramount mission she has imposed upon herself, quickly surpassing the spur of fury in favor of the current circumstances. When the queen offers to treat her for an illness she does not harbor, her skull shakes from side to side, though the flicker of a gracious smile encumbers her countenance. ?I have not been contaminated; I am here in my brother?s stead. He has received this illness through Arcanum and I fear now that he is dying. I know nothing of healing and feel powerless to alleviate his anguish--his eyes bleed, it is terrifying,? she states, her vocals a desolate litany that betrays her composed exterior. ?I will do whatever is required--will give you anything you desire if you would let me know how to help him,? she vows, sincerity gleaming beneath her silver and violet gaze.