In this womb or tomb - Any/Thanh.

[Aurane]

She smiles, a wry and crooked smirk. Stupidity is the weak minded. (Hear that, Eyes thinks you're weak.) She makes a sarcastic ‘hmm’ sound through the twitch of her tight, dark lips, (maybe Eyes thinks too much). “I could not agree more...” She lifts her nose high, testing the scents again, but the stimulation is no more dulled — smoke and horseflesh, sweet pine sap, the damp musk of earth, moss and decomposition. ***(This place will do just fine.) ***(This place is burning.) Her eyes snap back to Eyes, catching the glint of moonlight. “Fine. Only, this place smells like fucking fire and sweat,” She moves back to her escort, she cannot see herself in the bright glint of his eyes. “Have you brought me to Hell, E--?” Aurane snorts, pulling her chin into her thin chest. “Now how ever so rude. You know my name, boy. But I don't know yours. Before I come up with something...” She giggles, the sound perverted somewhere between her thought processes and her lips. It is grim. “Quiet was not so pleased,” She mutters, shrugging and turning again to observe the darkness. Heavy bodies of fog skirt around the copses of sharp-needled trees, their particles catching the faint glow from the moon. (They come together, growing dense and hostile, into unholy shapes. Their mouths yawn open exposing toothless gapes.) Aurane turns away, these predatory ghouls dispersing as fast as they condensed. “What of this Chamber of fire then?” She turns her dark eyes to him, her voice full of a feigned, girlish, excitement and gossip, “Who's who, and what's what?!” Aurane. ****Death makes angels of us all, and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claw.