Frost covered hooves danced in the snow, stomping and crushing down the chilly white powder as each leg shifted and plowed through the first white frost of Orangemoon. The Brindled Devil would twist and turn, lost in her own reverie of darkness and violence, uncaring of the physical display she may be making to anyone who dared cross her path. Who cared what they would think? Would they think her insane? Mentally ill? She didn't care.

A snort violently tore from the soldier's nostrils, eyes narrowing dangerously as she partook in her dance of madness, and so lost as she was, Rhiannon was unaware that her Lord was upon her.

'One must have a reason and release for fury.'

The voice of the Reaper, of Deimos, caused Rhiannon to jerk and turn, ears snapping forward at attention and head tilted down, proud, twisted blades lowered and pointed towards the death-stallion. She had been lost in her own mind, fighting her demons, and he had startled her. Scared her, like a little helpless whelp, but she forced herself to move, to lift her head, to look like she wasn't about to charge and attempt to gore the Basin's King.

'What is yours?' Fucking indeed.

".... M'lord." Troubled irises locked on Deimos' icy, heart-freezing glare, locked and returned the stare, and that was all the greeting that she would give him. Rhiannon cared not a lick for stallions; she detested them, all save her father Crowley... But Deimos stood beside Illynx as their Ruler and Sovereign, and she knew Deimos would bodily stick himself between the Basin and any who threatened it, and by that alone, Rhiannon would show him the respect where it was due.

For the briefest of moments Rhiannon pondered his words, wondering why the fuck he wanted to know. Why did he want to know? Why, after her two-plus years of living in the Basin, of calling this iced castle her home, did Deimos just now attempt to seek her out? Or maybe he hadn't... Maybe he had just wandered upon her demonic shuffle, and inquired. Each thought was somewhat angering.

"... I don't have one. A release." But oh, she would love to. Simple, blunt, and to the point. It was how Nonnie liked to do things. "I was out, patrolling, and I ran into a winged harpy," Rhiannon paused and spit to the ground in distaste, in hate and loathing, "She bested me in battle, m'lord... And I want to make her pay." They wanted to make her pay. "I want to crush her pretty wings beneath my hooves, and I want to wear her feathers in my mane. As trophies. I want to chew her flesh, I want to tear her apart until there is nothing left of her." She wanted to control her, to own her, to have power over her...

Never had Rhiannon considered herself mentally unfit, or unsound in any way... But the words that had just pressed from her lips confirmed that maybe, just maybe, she was just a little bit crazy. Then again, maybe they all were.

@[Deimos]

ooc: I don't know if the Heather enjoys being tagged? Let me know!