I WANNA ENTER HEAVEN BLEEDING.
Bexley’s almost pleased to hear the sound of rage outside her door.
It makes her feel less alone - that she’s not the only one in Solterra to be harboring a blood-boiling, tooth-shattering kind of anger, an anger so heated and potent she feels it as deeply as she’d feel a flame across her skin. It makes her heart sputter and death-rattle, loud, insistent, in the curve of her throat. It brings a macabre smile to her face in a grim flash of bone-white teeth.
She’s still wearing that smile as she steps out to meet her adversary.
The Regent is picturesque Old-Testament god under the glare of the sun, burning a bright gold, drowning in those waves of white hair. Her shoulders are squared, the scar across her cheek blazing deep red. Her pulse blooms agitatedly in her jaw. Her gaze, crawling over Efphion watchfully, is cold and wrathful, and it takes in everything without any outward recognition - registering the dark lines around those yellow eyes, the wash of black hair, even the knife that skates against the sand at her feet with little more than a slow, disdainful blink and a carefully leveled glare.
If nothing else, at least her run-in with Solis taught her about being careful.
Burn me, then, she snarls. How beautifully ironic. Does Efphion even know how mocking that threat is, or is this simply another unintentionally well-placed blow, the kind that's been dealt to her ceaselessly over the past few months? The coldness of Bexley's eyes is unsettling and unusual, doesn’t belong on the face of something so obviously enraged and so used to burning hot; it is the glare of a snake, vicious and ready to strike, but not without a hidden strategy. Or try. Bitch. I needed a good laugh, anyway.
She flashes that smile again, brimming with toothy venom, and tilts her head almost mockingly, a viper in wait.
