And no one can hear you scream

                    she basks beneath the intensity of his vermillion gaze, anchored in her rigid stance and undaunted by his masculine presence or of their close quarters. and the elysius permits the acute scrutiny her own pupils aspire to perform upon his unimposing physique, mismatched gaze noticeably traversing every inch of his musculature in an attempt to pinpoint his deficiencies, his assets. { for if the deity manages to strike the right nerve within his psyche, surely this encounter would prove most brutal. } yet the tyrant fails to infuriate this monochromatic father, and a lone brow quirks curiously upon her mutilated forehead as he articulates of sudden enlightenment -- insinuated by she. though the deity remains wholly unintrigued by his personal tribulations, partially inclined to flee the premises of the coast she currently loitered in pursuit of her original mission: a quest for the armada queen.

yet his proceeding query forces the abominable tyrant to halt mid-pivot, broad skull tipping faintly to the side with infantile naivety as she regards her company with a fixated stare -- glacial, apathetic, lifeless. “dead,” is the resolute affirmation that perforates the momentary silence of their surroundings, tone evidently lacking remorse or lamenting sentiment. it is only the brief glimmer of wry amusement within the eyes that suggest a looming possibility of a murder so savage -- vehement carnage at the deity’s own paws. but it is only fleeting, as is her presence; and the elysius, whose interest has gone unfulfilled throughout the duration of their encounter, treks onward and away.