ooc- hardcore liquid timing this

It has been a few hours since she has last seen her ivory paramour, the ruthless tyrant having stepped out to patrol the territory ( at least fia assumed that was what she was doing) while Fiamette had been taking a cat nap. She is surprised to wake up to an empty cavern, her volcanic orbs opening and scanning every inch of their den in search of Artemis, but there are no signs of her. Where had the woman gone? Fia was determined to find out. Ebony appendages unfold beneath her as she stands up, her nostrils flaring as the scent of decay and rotting flesh fill her lungs. The smell was.. homey. A smirk graces her features as she slips out of the den, and immediately another scent infiltrates her senses- the smell of fresh blood. Her defenses would raises as thoughts of her lover being hurt pours into her brain, and she aims to take off toward the smell and follow the trail until it leads her to the crime scene.  A few minutes of time pass before a bloody scene unfolds before the carmine nymph's eyes. She stops in her tracks as a large and dark figure slips into her view, and she exhales a sigh of relief. Good, it's not Artemis... But it smells like she was just here. Cautiously the woman takes a few slow and steady steps toward the limp body, the smell of blood and death filling the air around her. Once she stands inches away from the body she cranes her neck downward and takes a hefty sniff toward it. She does not recognize this wolf, but whoever killed him must have had a good reason to do so. His body is mutilated. Fiamette then turns away from the body, her skull tilting backwards as she sends out a summon for her ivory paramour- Artemis. Surly Art will be able to shine some light on this situation, after all, the dark angel knew of everything that happens in her forest.  “Speech”

                              she is draped in the sanguine embellishments of a victim slaughtered, the intoxicating aroma of death too pleasant to douse from tattered flesh quite yet; no, the elysius strives to indulge in the macabre fragrance that envelops her own exterior. for with every inhalation, the deity is reminded of her abominable act of carnage, of fulfillment! the commemoration of dispassionate copulation and vehement murder prominent within a distorted psyche -- enduring-- her carmine beauty being the only intrusive and lingering thought that perforates through such brutal memories as a twinge of guilt filters through her newly-awakened conscience. and although the elysius will not mourn the loss of the benefactor to her cause, she is plagued with the uncertainty over fiamette’s inevitable reaction to the crimes that transpired within the premises of her own haven just hours before.

and as the nymph’s soprano permeates the silence of their surroundings, the elysius tyrant slithers from obscurity, diligent pupils fixated upon the beauty’s vermillion gaze with an intensity unmatched -- curious. tainted paws bring the phantom to a standstill within a distant proximity to the babe as her pupils trail to the gored cadaver at her feet, indifference prevailing through her abhorrent countenance despite the emotion swarming beneath a stoic facade. “this is our home,” the deity states impassively, subtly admitting to having slain the invader, yet unwilling to grant fiamette any information beyond that -- for now.

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As the carmine babe waits for her ivory consort to arrive, suspicions of murder brew within her mind. If Artemis wasn't the wolf who did this, they could surly be in danger, so she could only hope that her bloodthirsty beauty was behind this. Finally, after what seems like minutes, the tyrant's beautifully marred bodice steps into her vision, and Fiamette takes a daring step in her direction. She urges the white woman into her close proximity, as she seeks the close comfort of her paramour at her side. But, the woman does not lay waste to the feet that separates them, but instead comes to a complete halt, and speaks. So, Artemis is the one who did this. 'Our home... Of course...' She thinks to herself as she nods, her simple reaction indicating her agreement on the matter. If he was an intruder, than he deserved it."Yes it is, and you are to thank for it." She coos in the sweetest of tones, and attempts to approach Artemis head on and destroy the emptiness between them. She attempts to stop just inches away from the tyrant, her magma hued eyes aiming to gaze into her lovers indifferent glare.  If it wasn't for Artemis she would not have a forever home. Because of her protection, Fiamette has a home she knows would never disappear like most kingdoms do. There is nothing the empress can do to turn away Fiamette's love and support, not even her murderous impulses can withdraw the nymph. "How did you do it, love?" She finishes her statement in a low whisper, her tongue slipping from between her lips in an attempt to clean a spot of blood off of her lovers right cheek. She wants to hear a lovely tale about power and death due to her preceptor's actions, and who better to tell the story than the perpetrator herself?

"Speech"
'thoughts'

                               her carmine beauty proffers mechanical acceptance in the form of a languid nod before nimble limbs propel the empress into the tyrant’s close quarters, forcing the elysius to adopt a rigid stance out of sheer anticipation. and her abstract gaze is stagnant upon the beauty’s own sanguine depths as she keenly observes fiamette’s motions, pondering over whether or not to leave the babe within obscurity or to enlighten her with her own transgressions. but it is not until the scarlet nymph praises her relentless urge to protect and possess that the elysius’ pupils abandon their fixation, averting entirely away from fiamette’s nubile physique to concentrate haphazardly upon her liquidated benefactor. remorse { a ruthless, domineering emotion } penetrates her apathetic guise and a defeated sigh cascades from frayed lips as the beauty encroaches upon her personal space in an attempt to cleanse the remnants of beautiful sin from her countenance; yet the elysius is quick to evade such contact as her skull flinches away and out of proximity. “fia,” is the callous and tacit demand that seeps from the tyrant’s jaws in an attempt to ensnare the woman’s undivided attention, her own mismatched gaze hardening with severity as they once more seek to interlock upon fiamette’s.

and her own chiseled appendages seek to navigate the phantom queen away from her consort and adjacent to the fallen, attempting to place the slaughtered between she and the scarlet wraith of whose presence she had grown more than accustomed to. “i am afraid there is more than death to this story, fiamette,” she elaborates with unwavering conviction, her countenance once more reflecting naught but practiced stoicism. the lack of her carmine beauty’s typical pet-name an obvious indicator to the grim tone of the situation that had befallen both she and the slain.

TABLE BY ARGENT / NEFFS