♠ ᴅʀᴏᴘ ᴛнε ℊᴀᴍᴇ

The Illiadis wraith harbors an aura of reverence at the mention of death, and the tyrant?s lips bewitch with the ghost of a forced smile as her guest?s somber sentiment fragments the tension compacted deeply beneath the surface of her hardened exterior. Not a word of thanks is offered in response to Jupiter?s considerate commentary, though her pallid skull bobs halfheartedly in acknowledgement as her own silver and amethyst gaze averts haphazardly from the premises of the firebird?s own, wavering distractedly about their surroundings as she nullifies the weight of her own thoughts. It is only once the conversation shifts to more formal standards that the Elysius? pupils return to fixate upon Jupiter?s own, the mild interest evidently pooling beneath the vibrancy of her violet gaze --- enchantingly.



Once the topic of the former ice king of Glaciem is breached, the phantom deity takes notice of the shift in her guest?s facial expression, recognition engraved into the russet folds of the woman?s countenance. It is obvious that the celestial wraith knows Isardis { or, at least, of him }, and Artemis finds herself incapable of fathoming how she had not encountered this woman before; she was formerly the albino?s little ?bludgeon,? after all -- though Isardis had charmed many into his proximities and her status within Glaciem had never been paramount, so the idea isn?t entirely farfetched. A smirk extends across her corrupted visage at the other?s claim and shared doubt; surely it was not in Isardis? character to lay like a snake in the grass, and the phantom has no doubt that the albino still has schemes brewing within the depths of his obsessive mind.



The wry grin contorting her features only elongates as Jupiter?s apathy dissipates { however minutely it is } at the mention of eradication, the tips of her own decadent incisors unsheathed from velvet lips in a smile so haunting. ?Eradication, yes. I suppose there are a few of us who are enticed by the prospect of destroying a nation,? she confirms, vocals a bedeviled croon that scream of her malevolent intentions. She says no more on the matter, though dares to venture forward in the slightest, toes teasing her own borders as she encloses the distance lingering between them to a mere few feet. ?Are you allured by such prospects as bloodshed, Miss Illiadis?? she questions with feigned innocence; however, the expression laden upon her countenance tells the tried tale of belligerence.