when corde discovered an ancient graveyard ;D

Everything was the same and different. The winter trees stood naked as they had before, but their twigs curled in a distorted way, as if the tree itself screamed in pain. The sky was a mass of grey cloud, again so ordinary for Winter, but instead of letting small shafts of light through they emitted an ethereal glow. The wind was just as bitter as the day before, coming straight from the north, but the scent was something else, metallic almost, with a tinge of acrid burning. Boring. Boring. Borring. Before the spider-witch there some oddly shaped figures. The smell of decay hit her like a thunder and the cheshire smile, ear to ear, returned. Full, ebon lips peeled back to leave place for incisors and fangs to gleam into the moonlight. It was the only time that she was able to see after all. How could a place be so full and empty at the same time? Maybe it iss not boring after all. The witch came to a halt before the structure, it was cracked and ripped and crumbling apart. It was clear that they had survived the strong hand of Father Time. The gravestone was so weathered by the freeze-thaw of centuries that the engraving was to faint to be read. What is this? I do not know. You are not being ussseful. She spread her hind limbs only to rose on them, placing both of her massive pads on the structure. Upon contact, the gravestone collapsed with the weight and forced the harlot back on all fours. Devil structure. The woman vocals were rafined, cold and  melodious however they had something under it, under her tongue, her devil tongue; something dark and Evil. As she was forced back down all fours, the slime gravestone crumbled into pieces, breaking the earth crust only to reveal something unusual, something fun Bonesss, boness, sack of thorns. Wolf bones Yess All around are the tombstones with their faded etching, a roll-call for the people who cannot answer. For when their bodies became still and cold they became a cadaver, not a person. Speech

His mass was brought into these lands, eyes never once finding suitable places. The Klein Male had at once lost sight of his sister, but knew he'd brought her in the right direction and eventually she would find that direction on her own. Any that touched her would have been brought pain with her tendencies for using others as test subjects. And if one had ever escaped her, well she would be sure to tell him once they caught up to each other. Then the escapees would be certain to die by the phantom's hand. His sisters were not to be defiled by the impure. Their lines needed to be strengthened by the purity of one of their brother's or if it even existed, a Male even stronger. They could not chance the impure spawn taking root in any of their sister's wombs. His paws glided over the land with his head low. A sign to any who knew him, his day was not a good one. He was ready to snap at the easiest of prodding. A victim had escaped him. One who had been stupid enough as to insult him and to threaten his sister's wombs. A scent caught him. Familiarity of it being enough to tempt him to turn from his path. He had the winds to his back, she would know he was here but the phantom was silent in this dark place. Maybe she would think the spirits she heard tricked her into smelling it. He edged closer though, taking his time through the muck. Neither knowing how close they came to Hannibal and Carnage. He arrived and his eyes settled on her but he didn't waste time. He moved wordlessly to her pressing his nose into her, smelling her scent. Nothing was amiss and he seated himself satisfied, pulling her against his mass with a paw, holding her close. "Tell me Cordelia, do the prophets speak yet? Do they say what is the fates of our family in these lands?" Speech

The perfume. The glory. Oh how it all came back to her damaged mind. The broken, how they will crumble on their feet for their family was reunite. Cry teasr of fucking joy. Cry tears of fucking blood fore the Klein Empire will raise for the ashes like the might pheonix; they shall rebuild what they lost, they shall inhabit these lands and conquer them as their own. Rule with an iron fist but who, oh who, will rule them? The spider-witch can not completed her mission, she has not found the heir of thei Empire and that brough sorrow to her heart, it wounded her, moved her deep inside her fragile bones. Hannibal, Hannibal, where art thou? He will be here soon. Who? Him. Who will be here? The scent hit her like a wreacking ball. Sweet, masculint and potent. Oh it was a Klien alright but from where. Where are you? Where are you hiding? Come out. where the melodious tones of the harlot as she slowly spinned in circles, observing each single direction. Noth. No. South. No. East. No. Wes-- Yes. Oh yes. Cerulean gaze locked on the phantom brute as he approched. An eye roll was offered as she warmly approved of his inspection. She knew better; their arguments were often heatin gu and taking forever to die therefore the harlot consented to it rather than question his affection. And to be honest, after all this time spent alone and in the company of the spirits, she reeled in his touch. His warmth. The scent of her own brother wrapping around her; she will smell like him for hours now. The ssspirits are ssilent not dead. Do not bite the hand that fed. the harlot nosed her brother ear, sharing and mixing their scent together. Her own scent of blood and decay mixed with his strong pine and male one. We must be patient, blood. I need to find a place meditate and accesss the gates. Speech

Her lyrics were pleasant on his ears, uncaring of whether the rest of the world hated them. they belonged and always would. The intermixing of scents is intentional, he's marking her as owned to deter scum. one would have to be daring to try to touch her when his scent marked her. She stated that the spirits weren't dead but they didn't speak here yet, this land was silent then. It was unsuitable for them then. Hannibal best not have chosen this place where the prophet could not guide them, lest Jekyll have to challenge for the place as heir. That was a fight that would not end well for either. Her nose pressed into his ear and he knows she reads his mind from every thought that found his face. It was displeased and a hardness in his eyes. She knows him well and knows he will not hesitate to challenge should he feel he need to. She whispers her lyrics, speaking of finding places to meditate. "Then find you a place we shall. I shall see to it that they do not remain silent to your ears." He doesn't speak the blasphemy on his mind but he knows that she knows. She will always know. Even Hannibal knows, just none voice it except in private. They know if Hannibal won Jekyll would likely be banished, but if Jekyll won Hannibal would be forced to conform to Jekyll's will or else be left and forgotten. Both would become gravely wounded, but both know one day this will come to a head. The battle between them is likely inevitable. Desire for power ploys at both. Only one solution is there where they both gain it, but to split the empire in such ways is to take from each other's own strength. So for now Jekyll is forced to bend to the other's will. He turns his eyes to Cordelia, reading her face. Would she choose the chosen heir or the brother that believed her powerful enough to bring down a kingdom with mere spells and visions? The question plagues him as always. Their father planted the seed long ago, and Jekyll is merely drawn to the power it promises to take the empire, and to seed his prophet's womb. Their spawn would be even greater than any Hannibal could ever create with his whores. Speech

Cerulean optics dug a whole into her own blood, into her brother. She knew him well, for her eyes he was transparent. The clash of two titans. He knew better than that, he knew better than question their father and his will. For them, Hannibal was still their father successor to the throne and the spider-witch was certain that their father saw greatness in Hannibal eyes, reason why he picked him over her, over Jekyll and all of them. The voodoo queen will was not her own; her body, reptilian, skeleton-like belonged to the spirit world, her soul. black and foul belonged to the spirits. Every she was and everything she knew was theirs for the taking. She did not wish to rule; she was the family Oracle, her only role was to follow the Heir, whoever that might be and aid in each way she can. Your ambition will be the death of you, blood. melodious tones, mysterious in their wake were carried away by the breeze. It was moments like those that she was the calmest, when she could scent the family bond in her veins boiling and threatening to spill. When she was surrounded by them. He was ambitious, a galactic titan, eager to set his iron pawn upon the throne, the title, the land. But such foolishness may as well bring his demiss sooner or later. One must not forget his head. she muttered, mostly to herself, though loud enough for the other to hear. Come, come, brother. she hissed dangerously, a undertone of caring could be sensed within her cold symphonies of the dead. The predatorix released herself from her brother embrace, leading him towards the bark of a tree where they both could relax and unwind; stretch their limbs per se. Her skeleton-like figure moved effortlessly upon the lands, mist and humidity almost surrounding them completely and allowing the lands a more macabre aesthetics. Read. Let me read your paw. she mused as she sat on her haunches against the bark of the tree. Coldness, rigidity, it send a familiar shiver down her spine; one that she loved, one that she desired. Speech

The titan was not so stupid as to risk the fight without favor of the spirits on his side. Her words weren't completely needed but they help to soothe what is riled inside him. He does not have favor yet. He gives but a dip of his head and a slow blink of his eyes. They settle upon her skeletal form. "It's not forgotten just yet, but the battle shall come, unless a compromise is made. Either he concedes or i do but neither will." He was unaware that a mere land away sat Hannibal with his empire being built with impure children as his heirs. had he known he might storm the den and dispose of such imperfections upon their name. She speaks once more and he allows her her freedom for now. One day though her womb will call to him, the spirits will tell her who the true heir is and she will become seeded by him. His spawn from her would be the greatest, power and magic combined to create a godlike litter that would not be contested in power. She moves and he watches, her skeleton barely visible, but he knew that already didn't he. He had felt it in her skin as he held her, like a lover would hold her. He onders when the last time she touched meat was. Likely when he last held her down and forced her with threats of her ears and eyes. He had even chewed the meat and pressed her mouth closed until she swallowed it. It was harsh of him but effective in keeping her alive. He moved, laying before her in a relaxed yet somehow still battle-ready way. She asked for his paw, and it was offered with the pad up. He knows, he trusts her. Very few are granted the trust she is. She would always do well to remember this and to not exploit it. His eyes watch her. His tail twitches as he stays silent for her to read his pad like she does. Eager to know what she sees there. He believes her completely in her power to hear and see. Speech

when corde discovered an ancient graveyard ;D

Intuition... the act of reading another person "like a book," although the spider-witch would never think it be that simple. The living ones make it sound like she could just look at someone and know exactly what they are thinking at all times but that can't be the case, can it? She had heard that the eyes are a window to the soul but they aren't just a hole in a wall. She thought nobody can really know, nobody alive that is, maybe that is a good thing or maybe it's a curse. One thing is for sure - the living were complicated and fascinating creatures, and she would not even try to look through the window until she could not walk through the door. But any means has its end and she was going to use whatever mean necessary for her own sake and her family, in a way. She was the priority, she was the Voodoo Queen, the Oracle, she was the light and the darkness, the being that could walk on the line of the two worlds, the living and the death. Such was her call, such was the meaning of her life. It brought her honor, grief, despair and madness. Was she madder than her brother? He wanted the crown, the throne and all the Kingdom jewels but the way she saw it, they were just two little boys that faught for their imaginary friend. Something not real. Inexistent. They did not even know if Hannibal had such Empire they were speaking of. The brute was talking about a grandious battle with only one possible outcome and one victor and yet his vision was narrowed. I am the one who sees. I shall see the possible and impossible, not you, blood. Hush now. she coees him gently though the other sentences were spoked in a neutral, cold manned. She was joyful of their reunion, on the inside, the outside was more reserved, more skeptical and calculated because there is calculation even in maddness, even in chaos. Everything was part of her plans, of her schemes and trickery after all, she was a demoness. She was more dead than living, she came to a conclusion for she spent more time with the spirits. It was only logical. Sometimes she even forgotten to breath, eat, bathe. Maybe that is why she needed her familia, to reconcile with her living part. Cerulean gaze locked on the back of his paw, on his pad as she concentrated. Analyzed, registered every line, every pore and transpiration point. Oh, oh, brother mine. she said evenly, her voice took a more neutral, professional tone than the one he might have been used with. It is no great sorrow that quenched in you, she began, her hisses were dark and edgy once more the moment she pushed his pad down. but only little sorrows, beating ceaselessly. Speech