She watches the obvious changes that cross the Queen’s face as her words are spoken, drawing amusement as she always does over those who have little control over the bending of their features, unaware how much of themselves was given away without a price through such naïve trust that others will not use your heart against you. The Lady is used to such ripples of emotion across the face of the ordinary and mutated, however; her way of life is highly distasteful to them for more reasons than the most obvious extermination of their species. She hears as much when River Walker replies, her lips smiling sadly at the woman for she cannot understand why it is Illynx loves the solemn serenity of her mountain and the vision of her kin within it brings her so much fulfillment to a vain and shallow life such as her own.

They are similar, in so many ways, each walking along either side of the proverbial path with their thoughts surrounding themselves and what they could have, what they wanted, gleaming and beautiful and full of a pride that, at times, is questionable in its foundations. But Kahlua is kind in all the ways that Illynx is cruel, the Sunshower’s heart more golden and gleaming than the gilded bitch could lay claim to even in her second year of life.

”Our number is large, and far from lonely,” she says with her pitying smile still lingering on her face as she glances towards the Queen, ”I find little time to wander away to socialize elsewhere for too long, either way, but I have managed to make bonds with some outside the snow even after my rise to the throne. I’m sure you understand, being of a similar roll to your people as I am to mine, that my time is no longer my own as often as it used to be. If the mountain is lonely, it is not the way we live upon it that makes it so. It is my inability to answer the call of my wandering heart as often as I used to, to see those and that which I care for outside of its province.” Looking upon the benevolent ruler of the Edge, her eyes crease ever so slightly as she runs her golden gaze across the mare who watches her son and the metal scorpion his father had made for her, an almost seamless transition of her words into the mention of the Doctor and her equally soft heart when compared to Kahlua’s.

Still, it makes her smile to know that it was that same soft heart that had been the reason the bond was so easily made between the two herd lands that had, notoriously, been at one another’s throats since the Qian’s rise beneath the golden wings of Mirage. It was proof of her logic so coolly stated before, that women such as Lena and men such as Roland were essential parts of their whole, the sweetness needed to give light to the shadowy undertone of their leaders; it was a time, Illynx knew, for fear of the mountain to slip out of mind, and the game is seemingly going her way for the time.

She also smiles because she too owes her life to Lena, as do many. The healer was surely a matron among the mortals of Helovia, her song and Time imbued powers extended to any and all who needed her. There was something to be learned in that, Illynx was sure; she just couldn’t ever seem to spot the lesson, too broken and bitter her own heart.

Along with her smile is a nod, a gentle tip of her crown that reads, to the trained eye, that she shares such kind sentiments for the gentle Doctor and her kitsune.

What the Queen says next may have drawn offense from the Lady because it seems as if the woman assumes she neglects the kinder members of her fold, but it is enclosed in the ringing of a word that leaves her inner eyes glinting and savage as they look upon the playing field in which both white and black Queen are hand in hand.

Her smile blooms, glorious and sweet, beautiful and full of all the false happiness she can muster.

”I came to your door, did I not, my darling?” she replies with a gilded wink of her right eye, smile still playful and dancing on her pretty face with the corners slightly downtrodden at the mention that the Queen is to be leaving. Nodding in accordance to the words and turning to call for her son, his name rises sweetly from dark lips and he quickly abandons his game with the scorpion just as the metal creature does the same towards him to return to his master. ”It was my pleasure, Queen Kahlua,” she says in her own honey lacquered way, bowing her own head in return.

Glancing at the contraption and hearing the differentiation of its prior whirring to the devastating racket it’s making now, she comments on such as the Queen moves to lift her head with the robot on her poll. ”Be not a stranger, dear, you are welcome here as you please. Do come back by soon to meet with Ulrik,” she says, ”your little friend sounds creaky.” A giggle trails from her as Rikyn beams at the nice lady who let him play with her doodad, tail twitching in his happiness behind him with little notice paid by the child, enjoying the notion that his father had made the toy and that she’ll be back soon to have it fixed.

”Bye-bye, nice lady!” calls her boy as she walks away, and Illynx looks down at him with a thought to chide him for calling her by such an improper title and finding that he’s still blabbing his farewells, ”be nice to the toy!”

She rolls her eyes as she turns back into the vale, wondering if the Queen will return with whatever power she sought through the tale she’d requested, pondering what precisely it might be.