The glassy orbs of the swamp gaze towards her person as she enters the land of the paranormal,
the insane, and the deceased. It's stench fills her nostrils with the rotting corpses
that litter the water's that may have once been pristine. It is murky, the milky
centers of the blind, and she is well aware of the sense of visuals locked unto her
scraped and bruised bodice. And still, the shade raises her tail high in the air,
presentable, regal, perhaps; with a bitter twist. A apple, with a bad core.

The shadow is wounded, yes, but she is damned if she will not look as
presentable as she can when she is searching for that which her
head bows to. She blends with the darkness, melds with it's
crevices as a lover caresses their sweetheart.
Gnarled branches rise into the sky, obscure the light, and yet the
rising dawn blankets the dangers of the swamp with a surreal
mist. It dances and sings around her, mixing with the distant calls of birds, and the much closer dying
songs of crickets and frogs. The melodies surround her, and she listens to their
various calls with ready harks.

It is odd, the gazes of invisible ghouls on her coat. And yet, she does not
feel unwelcome in this place, she feels as if they have accepted her family,
as if they are the ghoul's as well. She cackles at the thought of the
unwelcome entering this land, only to find themselves
dragged down into the depths by the protector's, the spirits,
the creatures that hide beneath the surface. The trapped souls of angry warriors, mothers,
families, children. In direct consequence of her lungs exhaling and inhaling for
the crazed laughter that bubbles into the air, a grimace spreads across her maw. Pain shoots through her sides,
and she ceases the action immediately. Still.. this place.

It is home.
She needs healing. And yet first she needs to speak with the sisters that lead them into
victory, the two queen's that sit upon the throne.
A pause in the middle of the kingdom, her indigo orbs gaze with sharp intent into the
shadowy, old dryads that obscure her vision, along with the low-settled mists.
Her voice lilts into the air, sing-song, despite the pain that it causes.
"I seek your presence, vermilion and jester goddesses, my queens. Grant me your arrival."

tagged; @[Seele] @[Eris]