“What if I wanted to bow for you?” There is an edge to her smile, the unspoken acknowledgement that she knows exactly what she’s doing, toeing at the line of the horned woman’s patience -- it’s a game, to her, a way to break up the endless monotony as she sits in her watery prison cell. After all, what stakes in this world did she have have any longer -- what could the woman take from her except a life spent wasted, and a burning desire for revenge that slept coiled within her veins, waiting for the day she could strike? The witch had taken her mate, her daughter, her freedom. She had nothing left to lose. “A masquerade?” And her attention is piqued -- how could it not be, at the thought of moonlit nights and music playing, of a thousand bodies mingling beneath the stars? Once upon a time, she had been a queen who had thrown masquerades in honor of her newly-claimed crown -- once upon a time, she had an entire kingdom to roam. She had never thought she would miss the Iron Valley and her heretic subjects, and yet, her heart aches for them. “I’m certain you were the most beautiful woman there.” |
@Vendetta
