Lucid reverence, floating in your sacred sin
Need your fire against my skin
Cosmic violence, chill's drippin' like acid rain
Keep coming back 'cause it's you I crave
Need your fire against my skin
Cosmic violence, chill's drippin' like acid rain
Keep coming back 'cause it's you I crave
Israfel is busy. There is much to do, and so she relishes the chances that she gets to set her complete and utter focus upon her work without means of distraction.
Distraction is a constant companion, however, typically in the form of a certain two-toned lady. Even when Luvena was not around, the Sun Daughter found her thoughts captivated and ensnared, drawn like a moth to a flame and prone to wandering. It was cumbersome, yes, but a far better feeling than being lost to the dark, dangerous recesses of her own mind. This was healthier. This was promise, and hope.
That being, she was actually getting some gods-damned work done when the doors to her throne room - her throne room, what a weird fucking thought - were unceremoniously pushed open and a large form came ambling in like he owned the place, spouting words without even a proper introduction like she was supposed to know his name.
What an idiot.
The Queen of Denocte’s eyes narrowed, slits of vermilion ire locking upon the brute of a fellow as he strutted in. She hated him immediately. Her stance changed, her chin raised, and the wild, dangerous grin she tossed in his direction promised nothing but threats and danger. Ruby eyes glittered like blood in the firelight of the chamber, and she waited.
The servants and couriers she had been engaging in only seconds before moved to back away, feeling the Night Queen’s ire and not wanting to participate in it, but they did a poor job of hiding their grins of amusement as they tucked back and out of the chamber with a bow to leave the two to speak in peace. They would linger behind closed doors, surely to listen, because the staff of the citadel did so love to chat and gossip and listen.
Silence echoed in the grand chamber. Upon the back of the throne adorned with silks of various colors, glittering like a nightscape of endless possibility, Solaris watches with curious lavender eyes, and the bird gives a small purr of eagerness. She knows.
The Night Queen arches a brow, rose-kissed lips turning upwards in a wry, crooked grin. “I’m sorry; am I supposed to know who you are?”
Introductions, of course, were everything… And Israfel knew who this man was, with the stench of sweat and dust and sand that clung to him like a foreign stink, because Solaris had informed her of his appearance. A shame, then, that a King did not have the forethought to introduce himself before speaking.
What a fucking idiot. Hopefully the King of Solterra would be more useful than he was proving himself to be, otherwise she had no use for him.
