Teeth grit and grind together, saliva pooling out from her dark, closely-pressed lips. Hungry amber eyes roll, shifting to fixate on the interloper headed her way. Curiosity gleams in that burnished gold gaze, a wicked, wicked, frustration and desperation.
Those tattoos, those markings, remind her of someone.
An eerie stillness falls over her rapidly moving body, and she comes to still, statuesque in her fucked perfection. Nostrils flex wide, ribbons of red becoming visible; green-tinged ropes of saliva slither and foam around chapped and burned lips. Sweat thickens over her body, white foam and soaked damp glistening visibly, even from a distance.
She chafes against the chains of her prison.
Rapidly she swings 'round, planting herself to face those approaching. Her guard looks fierce—which begs the question of why.
Was she afraid Confutatis might bite the foal's head off?
Good.
She should be afraid.
Forward she paces, oozing
malice, her neck flexed and hips swaying in a viperous arc of her poisonous intent. She
breathes disdain, the coldness of her
wild eyes exotically bright and
glowing with rage.
Bones rattle. Lips curl into a sneer.
Go.
Mongrel growls low in his throat, his tails writhing as he gazes over her poll out towards the intruders. Confutatis' eyes hurt from her tears' salt, but she doesn't fuss.
This would be fun.
With a final snap of his tails, Mongrel unleashes a tight-knit vision aiming to capture the two of them, an illusion. He scrubs away Confutatis, leaving nothing behind but dust and sand; for all the world, it would seem she has disappeared.
She hopes it pisses off that annoying fucking guard. Or, even better, that it would scare her into panic, shouting for guards.
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