Her words cause a snarl to ripple across his maw, and she wonders if she should have appreciated the eerie simplicity of the monster and his plaything a moment longer. But what's done is done, and she steps forward as he simmers in what appears to be irritation.
There is a surge of energy within her biology as his hardened gaze strikes her; her insides shifting, the magic in her veins awakening. Then he is drawing himself from the stagnant waters, and as the space between them diminishes she can feel the dark light thrumming just below her skin. But she does not let the magic show, not yet at least.
He coos to her, his sickly sweet words fueling the building energy in her belly, and she takes each one silently. He doesn't want a response and she lets him speak without interruption mostly out of curiosity - How do clever monsters fill the empty air with words? - until of course, he is questioning her. Then she knows she must give in
She wouldn't want to make him angry just yet.
"I'm not special," she replies with cloyingly sweet, mock modesty as her gaze is drawn to his weapon hovering threateningly in front of her. "...But I think I'd make a better trinket alive than dead."
Celest's eyes flash back to clash with his, as the set of her features loose their theatrical softness. "Is that what you like the girls to say to you before you kill them?" She asks, embolden by her boredom, or the reckless desire for anything interesting to happen. But as her last word falls Celest lets her magic materialize, rippling across her skin in iridescent, purple waves. The gloom is illuminated by violet light as a thin beam shoots through the air. Straight and true it leaves her skin, firing towards his prize at the speed of light, aiming to knock the gem from its watery pedestal.
oops.
I'm not a girl,
I'm a storm with skin
@[Maugrim]
![[Image: celest_by_cowgirlconrad-dcolc1l.png]](https://orig00.deviantart.net/bc93/f/2018/277/3/d/celest_by_cowgirlconrad-dcolc1l.png)