In the end, Rhiannon isn't certain if she should be surprised or not that it is the Reaper who stalks upon her sentry. It is always the Lord who finds her. She casts him a cautionary glance upon his approach, all prowling ink and deathly hollows, everything that she is not. Firm, steady, reliable, the shadowed sovereign of a changing land. She wonders, not for the first time, what he thought of these changes...

Bitterness is too pale a word to place as the taste on her tongue, vile and wretched.

The low, graveled, Kingly tones of his vocals were familiar to her ears, but despite the familiarity of it, they were not easy to hear. Her name spoken upon is lips, like a whispered sin, struck her with a feeling of shame in ways that she would never be able to articulate, and that stake was driven only further into her breast at his inquiry as to her previous vacancy.

She had never been able to handle shame. Anger, yes. Lust, gluttony, envy... But never shame. A perfectionist by nature, she strove to achieve only that, but her efforts fell short nearly every time. Why? Why? Her desire to succeed, for more, left her unable to handle and cope such a raw, unadulterated emotion.

Why, indeed.

The she-devil sucked in a lung-full of air, holding it for only a sparse moment before releasing it slowly, and it was only then that she spoke to answer. "M'Lord," she greeted him with a muzzle tipped in his direction, never close, never touching, "Away." It was shortly spoken, but not rudely so. Her answer could be one word or one-thousand, depending on if Deimos desired to hear her tales of madness and various exploits. Surely not, for the Reaper was a busy creature, and Rhiannon was loathed to waste more of his time than she already had. A steady constant, he was, despite his brashness and distance, and she had done little to repay his gift of loyalty save maybe spit upon his image with her distance. Idly, the brindled mare wondered if it was too late for redemption, for salvation by his Kingly hand.

"Sanity avoids me, but the demons are finally silent." They have been silent, since the first morn of Birdsong and her return to the Aurora Basin. Here, the mare turned her molten-gold and frozen-silver eyes on the Lord of the Basin, eyeing him, gauging him. So distant, but truly, her only constant. Her only familiarity among the thousands of strangers. "I have no further intentions of abandoning my posts, m'Lord. Perhaps my words mean very little, given my lack of performance..."

But she had nothing left to lose. Nothing else remained, save this demonic entity that she called 'Lord'. Her gaze drifted off once more, eyes forward but staring without seeing.

"I know my faults and my sins, m'Lordship, but now I wish for action. I wish for purpose. My family is desecrated and in shambles and all that I have that is familiar is you." An admission that was not very easy to leave her lips, for her pride almost did not allow it. It was not an admission of love, don't be foolish, but of adoration. Of loyalty. Of a soldier, a spy, who had no one left to follow and no one else to turn to.

"So, I ask for your mercy, for your forgiveness... If you will give it. And from there, in return, I'll give you the last breath from my wretched lungs."