Lilliana is looking down at the angry, open gash on her shoulder as the blood runs down her leg. It blemishes her fire-marking and the visual of crimson red and blazing gold coming together is a stirring one. The chestnut mare is still grimacing as another contraction rolls through her and there is nothing that could be described as sweet or soft - not right now.
When her blue eyes furiously crash with the sea-foam green of Celina’s, they are glittering with hostility and resentment.
The half-flexed wing prevents an outright attempt to toss caution to the wind and flee. When the pale mare rushes her elongated jaw towards Lilliana’s neck, the last half-step she is afforded is taken and the red mare jerks her head up and away, revealing that vital throat she had just tried to protect. Her head only lowers when @[Celina] starts talking. She looks like a petulant weanling - a foal who has been snapped away from their mother when they are past nursing.
"Fun?” the chestnut seethes, "Are you such a child that you need to be entertained?” Lilliana provokes, finding that she has little sympathy left in this moment.
There is another painful sensation wracking its way through her and she has little time to consider Celina. With her sky blue eyes burning bright, she thinks that the winged mare is welcome to Pangea if she wants it. She is welcome to this wasteland and its monsters (except Draco - Lilliana would never wish him on anyone). If the unnerving instinct she feels that Celina is here because her father is, well, Beqanna politics be damned.
If Ghaul wants to raze Taiga, if Draco can summon the energy for retaliation - she will deal with those hurdles when they come. She isn’t staying in Pangea.
The copper mare reaches out with her slender neck and the teeth that had begun to bare snap towards Celina, warning her to step back. Her red ears have flattened into a mane that is no longer as lustrous as it once was and it hangs more than curls. Glaring at the sharp-toothed woman, she feels as trapped in her mind as she does against this wall. "It’s not a girl,” she goads with a biting tone. It’s laced with doubt, though, and Celina should question everything Lilliana has said.
The River is singing again - trickling, laughing, ushering? - but her veins are white-lighting with rage. The only thing she hears is the winds of fury roaring in her ears.
Lilliana snakes her head once more, taking a blatant step forward as her bared teeth attempt to bite the first piece of skin it can find.
LILLIANA
if i ever get to heaven
i've got a long list of questions