JUST OUR EPIPHANIES �
10-03-2014, 06:25 PM
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? her rugged physique is regarded diligently by a keen violet gaze, yet still the phantom queen retains her beguiled apathy, muscles unmoving beneath her pallid flesh. rather, she grants the woman the opportunity to gape, her own pupils unwavering from the premises of the wraith?s porcelain { and enchanting } countenance as she awaits the anticipated retaliation and physical sign of vexation from the stranger. alas, the malevolent tyrant is greeted only with amusement, vocals that are swathed in a rich, foreign accent permeating the eerie atmosphere and immediately fueling the paladin?s intrigue. despite her enthrallment with this pretender?s company, the ghost of a scowl tugs at the elysius? silken lips as she registers her given { and unwelcomed } moniker, but it is only a brief twitch of her countenance that could be easily overlooked by the inattentive. ?and i am no goddess, harlot,? she corrects the wraith pointedly, the cadence of her own voice amplified in a domineering manner. the only breathing goddess the phantom acknowledges is her carmine beauty; artemis is simply the tyrant to fiamette?s deity and would never compare herself to one as physically divine. it is the harlot?s proclamation that causes the tyrant to shift slightly in stance, interest evidently piqued as her skull inclines in the direction of the italian wraith, a singular brow elevating atop her disfigured crown. and she briefly wonders if she has discovered one willing to bleed for the purpose of selfish glory -- a true diamond in the rough among a land teeming with negligent cowards. ?if you bleed for a crown, you will be this land?s one in a million,? she comments, bitterness lacing her tones. and although the tyrant queen has witnessed a multitude of ambitious challengers { and had even played the role of homewrecker once or twice before }, she knows that the majority of alacritians thrive within predictability and peace. but that is hardly the game the elysius plays. ?pry a crown from either pitiful queen or king this world knows,? she suggests, yet abruptly her demeanor shifts as she leans closer to the wraith who had so daringly sought to approach her, hoping to tease the woman?s pallid flesh with her own bated breath. ?yet if you touch a hair upon the red empress? head --? her incisors flash to the harlot as velveteen lips peel back in a wry smirk, subtly unsheathing the woman?s potential GUILLOTINE. ?-- i will remove yours.? there is a possessive edge to her vocals, and yet, her countenance does not reflect the sinister intention lurking within the pestilent chasms of her mind. |