I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
He does not love that she is round with child; he does not appreciate that she comes here, mocking him with visible confirmation that she is owned by someone else, that she has been dirtied. It brings out a cruel streak in him—crueler than he was already, at least—and he finds that he would not mind to sculpt this masterpiece differently than he was sculpting Rhae. She, his shy and golden child, was being built up. He was pressing her foundation together, carving into her confidence and hope. Eventually, he would rip that from her, leave her gaping and open—all too aware of what could be there but was no longer.
It would be beautiful, and he almost hums with the thought of it.
Karaugh though. No. She would not receive such a treatment. She is already too confident, already been given too much—and to think that she would flaunt it before him. His pretty mouth pulls into a snarl as he regards her, as she gives her name and home as if he cares why she has come. He is no diplomat. He is not here to broker piece with their neighbors or to ensure the legacy of Pangea. The land, like his toys—like his beauty, like his gifts—were all just tools for a grander design. Let it burn for all he cares.
“Apology not accepted,” he says flippantly, tossing his head back, the thin, watery light reflecting off the onyx of his heavy horns. He moves to block her path, his speed and grace supernatural, his body seeming to dissolve from her side and reappear before her without any effort exerted at all. “And you’re not going anywhere.” His lips pull back into a flat, cold smile, his shark eyes showing no emotion.
Reaching upward with the pleasure and anticipation of a maestro sitting down to his instrument, he begins to pluck at the strings of the Fear, hoping to shift the landscape, meld it into a tapestry of his choice. He hums low and deep in his throat as he saunters near her again, flesh rippling with disgust as he sidles near her, body touching the swollen curve of her belly. He leans over again so that his mouth can rest near her temples, voice low as he whispers into her ear. “And it’s never nice to meet me, Karaugh.”
By the way, how / if she responds to fear induction is completely up to you!