The crown sits heavy on her head. Not in a metaphorical way, but in a literal way. It is not an unpleasant weight, but a strange thing that she simply hasn't gotten used to. When she'd first came back from the mountain with it the ghosts had whispered around her, muzzles outstretched as if to touch, tone hushed as if she'd become something new and different. She'd rather enjoyed their awe and reverence, though of course there were always some that did not agree with the rest. Some hated her for her, resented her for living when they could not. Some still saw her simply as Iris, and of course, she was. She would wear the crown until someone better came along to rule instead, but for now, the Chamber had her and Jamie.

The ghosts had hissed when the crown appeared on his head, and she understood why. He used them, did not care for them, and the ghosts in turn did not like him. She'd spent a few days appeasing the spirits of the Chamber, ignoring the living as she was prone to doing, though it's certainly not something she can do for long stretches of time if she's supposed to be ruling the living. The living and the dead, really. Many of them had taken to treating her like their queen as well, and in a way, she was. The dead were just as useful to her as a living (perhaps more so).

Though it is summer in Beqanna, there's a lingering chill in the shadows of the pine forests. The ghosts had been secretive lately, like they were plotting something grand, and she was strangely lonely without their constant chittering in her ear. As much as she longed for moments of peace that would never be granted to her, in the rare moments they came, she found she didn't quite know what to do with herself. Perhaps that was as good a reason as any to go actually be a Queen, though she wasn't entirely sure what that meant. Recruit, for starters, though all the kingdoms were quiet according to the ghosts. Probably she should visit the other kingdoms, talk to Jamie, but today, she simply winds through the pine forest looking for anyone else who might be lurking. Perhaps she could simply start by getting to know those who wanted to call the Chamber home. A simple start, but a start.

If she were the kind to dwell on such things, Iris might wonder what it’s like to be so in tune with something living. What does it feel like to him as she crushes pine needles and weeds beneath her feet? Does it feel much like death does, as they are trampled and brushed aside. Which is not to say she does not respect and love this forest, for she certainly does, but she cannot help the minute destruction her feet leave behind. Still, she had seen him grow antlers and would perhaps one day wonder just what it might be like to create rather than destroy.

Iris knows nothing but destruction and death. They had been her constant companions since she was small, the powers that flowed through her veins and the experiences she’d lived along the way. Magician, the ghosts whisper before Iris ever sees the stallion from the meeting. They don’t speak the word like they do when Jamie is around though, with hatred and loathing and fear. No, they simply don’t actually know his name either, and nor does she. A funny thought, and she thinks back on that meeting. There were no names given, though it somehow seems fitting for the Chamber. The point was not her name, and not even her lineage really, it was only what she could bring to the Chamber. Perhaps she might live up to it’s worth, and perhaps she’d soon find someone better suited.

”Iris,” she says with a slight nod of her head, wondering briefly if this strange crown might slip or move, but it seems rather firmly planted there by some magic she does not control. Could she even remove it? To be honest, she is not sure. ”And you, magician? Unless you simply prefer being called magician.” She can’t say she knows the type of magic he wields, or how powerful even. She’d spotted the stunt with the antlers and heard the word from the ghosts, but her information is limited. Perhaps, like Jamie, he’d offer more. She had no way of digging into his mind for the information and while her ghosts were excellent spies, they were limited to sight and sound and, occasionally, not always accurate.