? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? The Elysius deity is wrath incarnate as she weaves, serpentine, through dense and looming foliage -- vexation pronounced in the bedeviled curl of her upper lip, exposing the yellowed bone of decadent incisors beneath-----porcelain countenance morphed WICKEDLY in a snarl. An aroma so foreign -- so repulsive -- writhes through velvet nostrils, provoking a sense of irritation to ignite within her breast as robust appendages propel her dutifully { and swiftly } in the direction from whence it wafts, oversized paws methodically placed in an attempt to deliver her directly towards the invader in practiced silence. Pupils search, survey, ravage her enigmatic surroundings in pursuit of the little marauder?s unfamiliar form, adrenaline surging throughout her interior as she locates the nimble wraith traipsing through the Elysius? domain as if it were she who adorned the Elysium crown. Indignation flares beneath taut flesh, and the phantom seeks to engulf the distance that separates supremacy from subservience without detection -- pausing in her stride only once breaches the area perpendicular to the intruder?s left side.
And in silence she examines with a critical eye, disdain heavy within the violet and silver prisms of her eyes. Idly, the Elysius props herself against the rugged base of a tree, pallid form { hopefully } obscured in lurking shadows that play within her eerie crypt -- dancing frantically beneath the pallor of the moon. And she, the sinister QUEEN of shadows. ?Bold?? is the saccharine syllable that baits the atmosphere -- the symphonic herald of her malevolent presence. And yet, the deity is unflinching -- collected as she gazes upon her intruder, gilded indifference plastered to her features. ?Or stupid??
