On purple daggers, Zandora left the icy fortress behind. She was tired, oh so tired of the constant reminders of her failures, her mistakes, her miseries. She left her child behind, the cursed child that wanted nothing to do with her except only when blood poured from her limbs, when Zandora bled for Cortana's life. Zandora supposed it was some twisted, dark metaphor, that only she could get wished upon her. 

Her life had taken a violent turn to hopelessness, and the vixen wanted no more of it. She would build her muscle, would build her reputation, she would forget emotion, leave the shatters of her demonic past to choke and burn in the hell she was created from, and would become the epitome of power. There would be no other option, Zandora will become the Zandoralia she once was, and there wasn't going to be anyone that could stop her. She would rise a fallen angel, burned and blacked wings now repaired with the lust of something better. 

With a new pride, a new power in her step, the vixen strided to the threshold, beginning her journey to success with recruitment. Evara trotted ahead, the black leopard sending encouraging and hopeful feelings to Zandora. The young leopard knew so much, the poor creature had been through it all with her master and Zandora was forever grateful for the bonded's commitment. No longer will Zandora dwell on the past though and with that the arabian emerged through the borders of the threshold with entrancing pride. A certain darkness glittered in the fallen angel's eyes, her steps calculated and arrogant as she swung her hips and let her purple cloak fly with the dragging tresses of her mane and tail. 

The frostfall chill was subdued by the warmth of her coat, and the heat of determination that burned so feverishly within her silky skin. Her attention was averted to the growl that released from Evara's lips, the companion smelling something that Zandora had yet to notice(or care too.) Her pupiless eyes raised from the bleached ground to rest upon a well, a sight. His skin was of gray pigment and scars littered his body and crimson dripped from coal eyes. What was perhaps the most stunning thing she had seen was his assortment of smoking horns and legs, it was almost beautiful to the women who had been raised around men that looked like him. With an arch of her brow, her lips formed her melody of a welcome, "What are you doing here?" She asked, almost skeptical that he was a worker for her father, a looming man of smoke and scar to retrieve the corpse of his daughter and drag her back to his realm. The vixen stood her ground though, a pair of purple and a pair of jade eyes waiting for the man to speak his peace. "Zandora."










"Talk."
OCC: it's a little ew but it's been awhile