♠ ᴅʀᴏᴘ ᴛнε ℊᴀᴍᴇ

Abstract gaze cannot help but linger upon the firebird?s companion as its muscles tense defensively beneath taut flesh, seemingly a fervent guardian at the ankles of his master -- prepared to unleash whatever power he harbors within his miniscule frame upon the Elysius queen if she were to assert unwarranted hostility. And yet, the russet wraith soothes its frayed nerves with a simple caress to its spine, piquing the tyrant?s interest accordingly as she contemplates the unconventional spectacle unfurling before her own eyes; however, the questions that swarm the chasms of her pestilent mind are kept at bay, if not for anything but to avoid sounding like an inquisitive child. Impressions are paramount to the tyrant; she is a queen and demands to be looked upon as such --- with respect.



Her guest?s first sentiment forces the phantom to noticeably tense, triangular ears abruptly careening forth as trepidation flares within her broadened chest cavity -- though her exterior refrains from portraying any trace of the intensified emotion fluctuating within her in favor of maintaining her indifferent guise. The tyrant does not entirely believe her ears at first, though the repetition of her mother?s given moniker a second time deepens her interest in the russet woman?s presence, and her pallid skull slopes sideways as she regards her visitor with her unwavering attention --- rightfully earned. ?Morphine was my mother,? she informs, vocals uncharacteristically gentle for a carnage queen like she. Was. The ice queen was naught but a mere memory left to plague her, likely festering with maggots in perpetual decay six feet below.



Ah; but the intrigue the Elysius harbors towards her guest only intensifies as the woman reveals her name, and although the tyrant cannot pinpoint the reason behind the recognition which strikes her as Jupiter?s surname breaches the atmosphere, it is present nonetheless, and her brows knit neatly together at the center of her marred forehead as she ponders. She surpasses her own curiosities, however, as the firebird proceeds with her explanation, relaying upon eager ears of her desire for information that she might have missed during her absence. ?I must admit, I am no historian --? the tyrant begins, obliging the woman?s request without hesitation, ?-- but I do know that Valhalla was usurped. First, by me,? she admits with a sheepish grin, ?And again once it was reestablished. Recently, actually, by a woman whom I believe intends to construct an empire with her various pawns.? The tyrant has no way of knowing as to when this firebird fled Alacritian proximities, though she supposes she should enlighten her upon recent events, if anything. ?Isardis Armada -- he led a siege and reigned supreme over Glaciem -- no longer adorns his crown; he supposedly is retired, though I doubt it,? the ghost of a smirk elongates across her countenance, for although her last encounter with the albino beast had not been a pleasant reunion, she still finds favor towards his malevolent mannerisms. ?-- And then there is Covari, the central pack of the would-be empress. You could say that there are a few packs who seek its eradication.?