If it were possible for the Dark Empress to be touched by heartfelt pledges of allegiance, she would have been by this one. It was an odd moment; for two faes that had shared so many tense feelings upon first meeting, they were quickly growing into a pair that would become unmatched in terms of power and ambition. Her words were almost an oath, and had many meetings. The flame of the unicorn race, the flame of the Basin herd, the flame of the Plague, the flame of their partnership. There was simply so much to consider, so many different things contained in those simple words. The shadow-mare sought and held Elizabeth's gaze, accepting her words, not needing to respond.

There was mutual respect and, perhaps, even a strange level of affection between the two, having been through a great deal together in such a short time. It was with this in mind that she sought to calm Elizabeth. She understood the mare's fury, understood perfectly the desire to sink her horn into the flesh of the dirty beings, the lust for revenge against those who would dare take them from their rightful home, not once, but twice. There was a familiar look in the silver-maned femme's orbs, a look of reliving memories, of remembering the sights, the sounds, the tastes. Sure enough, her words reflected her memories: "I miss the taste of blood."

"As do I," she agreed simply, her own mind fading into memories. She remembered flames. She remembered her mother's body burning before her eyes. She remembered the tortured shrieks of fear and pain as she watched the pelt evaporate, the skin wither, the eyes melt. She remembered the smell of charred flesh. She remembered piles of bodies, vaguely; but none stood out save her traitorous mother. She had left, and returned to her death. Suddenly the shadow-mare was struck with an odd sense of deja vu. The jackal herself had left; had she now returned to her death? No. She drew herself up, matching Elizabeth's stature perfectly, if lacking in height. I will conquer them. I will not end up like her. Like them. "We are destined for greatness, my dear. Patience. When they least expect, we will strike."

[W/C | ---]

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.