She moves graciously, the epitome, embodiment, of silken poise -- a dagger, barely concealed, beneath the velvet folds of a lady's dress. Harlot; courtesan; strumpet; slut; coils of lean muscle and sinew, rippling beneath charred skin, voluptuous curves swinging in idle decorum, smile poised wickedly on poisonous lips -- she is none of that, and all; the World Eater come again, devourer of virtue, crusher of joy, sneering beast of thinly veiled contempt and mockery.
Brows upraise, coquet curious fanning across darkened features; she recognizes him, the little boy, and she tilts her head {eerie bird.}
From darkness she emerges, coat glistening obliquely, ears pricked hauntingly -- chilling image of ruin, her skull's mask gleaming in the sparse lighting, illuminated by thin and fragile sunlight. Threaded silver and ash; the startling twist of corpse lips as she stares at him, amber eye glittering, no words coaxed forth from between tongue and cheek. At her feet crawls shadow, the little companion overshadowed by her horrific image; her neck curls, her hoof comes smartly forward, scraping along her mongrel's tails in warning.
There is a feral hiss, barbaric snap of pricking teeth, and the yako slips free from her treacherous grip.
Faint wakening of curiosity in her bodice and she exhales softly, recalling vague memories of a dark face and blood-like flanks. Indeed, as she twists her skull, smiling a saccharine grin, drops of blood flitter, flutter from between her teeth -- ghostly, heinous monster.
"I don't believe I recall your name."
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