the spine

                     it is the irrefutable stench of loiter that extracts the deity from her vile chambers, causing velveteen lips to quiver with diluted fury as she begins to pursue the transgressor with the characteristic diligence of a queen. for she is the possessive landlord of this cryptic keep and is indignant to find that yet another has managed to infiltrate her haven { the previous trespassers having been so lucky as to slip beneath her intensive radar, and for reasons untold! } ; however, the elysius will have her vengeance yet. and her strides are calculated, hasty as she internally vows against permitting this insipid fool leeway for escape from her formidable wrath, placing gargantuan paws methodically so as to obscure her looming presence from immediate detection. yet as the tyrant approaches the border of her would-be empire, it becomes apparent that whomever lingers within her proximities has done so respectfully; and her brow furrows with discernible curiosity.

she emerges from the foreboding mists like the enigmatic specter: shrouded in apathy and eerie composure, her frigid gaze reflecting the indifference of her soul as ardent pupils pinpoint the object of her intrigue. a familiar firebird lingers upon the threshold of her domain, harboring identical poise, and the ghost of a simper begins to contort the elysius’ abhorrent features as she devours the distance that separates one ruthless mercenary from the next. “miss illiadis -- the rightful ludicael queen,” she addresses the woman calmly, amusement flitting momentarily across her countenance as she recalls jupiter’s conquest over a dominion { so cowardly, unimposing! } to reclaim her iron throne -- like she had formerly aspired toward. “and what brings the phoenix to her former dwelling -- my home?”