Maybe Margot was not born to be the leader of any nation, much less one with such a gnarled reputation. Maybe she was born to be as fragile as her body demands, as timid as a girl, as soft-spoken and beautiful as a proper lady. There’s a beautiful destiny for her, somewhere in the ether, brilliant and golden and feather-soft. The wife of a noble, stunning and prodigious children, acres upon acres of gorgeous land. Surely, she is meant to be as porcelain and pristine as a Victorian doll.
Instead, Margot is a prime example of what environment does to a child. It’s no secret that Pangea is not the holiest or safest kingdom to raise a child in; but all of her bloodline, all of the adults that guided her, all the creatures that sought after her curiosity—they made a child into a formidable foe. Margot, though fragile in body, learned that the filthier the fighting, the easier the win.
These boys, even the timid one, appear to love getting dirty.
“Dollface,” Margot answers on the tail end of a sigh, “How original.” She blinks her pale, eerie eyes a few times before offering the pair a bright smile.
“Our potential . . . acquaintanceship depends . . .” The porcelain woman trails off as she confidently steps closer to them, inspecting all their finer details. Her magic stretches lazily around them, whispering against their sweetest emotions.
What Margot finds within Zain is a love so rancid it coats her tongue in a rotten taste. She draws her chin to her chest abruptly and cannot hide the shock and disgust on her face.
“Yes, I think you’ll do as a friend,” Margot says after a few more moments studying the undead thing. “Margot is my name, and this is my home,” she adds with a smile, tilting that fragile head to gesture to the land around you.
“Why are you here?”
