Her smile is permanently upon her lips as she devours her nephew’s fear as it falls off of him. The red tendrils of her aura envelope him, tickling and taunting – pulling the instinctive desire to flee up from the pits of him. The whites of his eyes are on display for her now, and satisfaction fills her body. His accusatory words entertain her as she circles him, the growing wings held proudly upright. The horns upon her head, numbered eight, are heavy upon the crest of her head, although they too are not yet fully developed. She no lingered resembled one of Brennen’s spawn and she found herself grateful for that fact more and more with each passing day.
Jesper sports the same self – righteous demeanor all her father’s children acquired at one point or another. He sought to reprimand her – but to what end she isn’t quite sure. Ischia could burn, and she still wouldn’t shed a tear for Beqanna’s loss.
“Sweet nephew,” she crooned in a sickeningly sweet tone. “Ischia was never my home. Not truly.”
He was desperate, she knew, and soon his time with them would be drawing to a close and he would go running back into Brennen’s arms like a love-sick colt. The thought disgusted her. She would never understand the fascination others had with her immortal father. He’d bred more mares than what was natural and had more children than any stallion should – it was pitiful. Still, out of all in his brood, she was the first to defect. The thought pleased her enough to consider a quick jot home. Perhaps it was time to show her father all that she’d accomplished without his hand upon her life. She was, after all, Mortem’s queen.
A demon queen.
@[Jesper]