A voice calls my name. It's feminine, which surprises me. I had always known death to be masculine - a father figure if you would.
I turn, visibly perplexed, and am surprised to find the pale mare before me. She has a pattern on her coat that looks like blood splatter. I have an irresistible urge to ask if it's real, or if she'd like it to be, but all I can manage is a wave of my deformed lips before she's carrying me along in her speech.

I float in her words like an apple in a tub, awaiting a child to dunk in and bob with gaping teeth.
What would it feel like to be an apple?

Laughter bubbles up in the tub and all the apples go sailing, including me.
I'm back in the cold cave before the pale mare and her bloody face. I glance towards her, orange eyes shifting like cogs in the machine of my skull, gently working out the kinks of this situation. She tells me her name but I forget it instantly, preferring the other name she provides. Assassins, it has a nice, slithery ring to it. Perhaps she's part snake?

One thing I know for sure though - this mare is not death.
With that knowledge I visibly relax, or as much as I can in a frozen wasteland.

Orange eyes hold the icy stare, but not with rebellion, fear, sorrow or anything else except interest. She's telling me what to do and I find it fascinating. I continue to opt for silence - this girl seems to have quite a bit to say and I'd hate to miss any of it as it's all been delightful thus far. Though I do wonder if she can hold true to her threats, but not enough to provoke her. She's right, I am too pretty to get marred up, and I'm sure she could break my bones - they're rather easy things to snap, bones.
I hate the feeling of pain. I think that's why I hate the cold. It's as if the air itself is painful when I suck it in. It pushes against my eyes and seems to nibble against my coat. It is an endless ache and I loathe it.

Still, I stay, head tilting ever so slightly to the left with a quizzical angle.

The ice wraith steps towards me and I lean my head back up and straight to better catch her expression, but otherwise I remain still. It is not a display of dominance on my part, but rather an inability to comprehend the subtle cues of her dominance. She is approaching, and I am comfortable where I am, so I remain. If we collide, something will give, though at this speed perhaps not.

Just then another key word hums out of the frozen lips of her apparent captor. Sisters?
I knit my 'brows together with confusion, orange gaze razing the girl's frame for some clue about our relation. Confutatis had been easy enough to recognize, but this one must have taken more after her dam. "You have his blood?" I asked slowly, my confusion heavy on my tongue. Her laughter nearly covers up my question and in return I smile, her joy infectious and my body eager to be rid of the uncertainty it's feeling.

I quickly find a different emotion to latch onto as Adrixaura continues to talk. Goddess she calls herself and a heat flares in my gut. It's not the flush of arousal I'm more accustomed to, but it's an internal fire all the same and it brings a hardness to my features. She continues to drone on and the phrase pops up a couple more times, further igniting my wrath.
Suddenly I'm no longer cold.

"You," I hiss between my teeth, now the snake, "are no goddess. Only HE is GOD!"
She is not my sister, I know that instantly with this betrayal to Him. I feel her lie crinkle in my chest like dead leaves underfoot. They splinter against my soul and they are easy fodder for my flames.

"How could you ever be anything but a mortal? You're not wearing a cock or a crown and your name dies on the tongue of a lonely serpent," I intone with a chill that matches the frozen realm this imbecile thought to be a world bowing to her. It surprises me, that the land wore on me so quickly, especially considering the heat I feel glaring inside my gut.
"The wolves howl out His name every night, writing it in the stars," my cold tenor rises to a wolfish snarl as my tattered lips grope at the air, seeking the flesh of the heathen to slurp down like spaghetti noodles. "DemonKing, DemongKing! DEMON KING!" I chant into a fever pitch. It leaves me panting and I feel that familiar warmth spreading in my groin. I moan his name one more time, urinating past my tail, the golden hormones warmed with my passion hissing against the frosted floor and splashing gleefully upon any nearby legs.

I quiver as the flow staunches, laughing freely now.