Don't get your hair caught in the propellor
11-01-2014, 04:35 PM
She did not know of the time it had been since a meeting had been called, but nonetheless, the harlot would arrive, at a steady pace as soon as the call was instilled. There was much difference between the cry of challenge and that of summons. This was the dominant kind of summon. Mandatory to heed. The woman contemplated silently what her punishment could have been should she not had come to listen to whatever the sovereign had to speak of. Her pale gost slipped toward the queen, settling about seven feet away from her, amethysts filled with contempt as she sat, banner still as a stone, and her paws were firm on the ground. Her neck still burned from her battle with Valentine, but she had stopped passing out constantly. What was left, however, was a particularly nasty wound with blood caked on it, but it was a mark of battle. Perhaps the son of the queen still had his memories of what the bitch could do, even if she hadn't won their game. my actions | |
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