Perhaps it was that her aged heart has had its residual memory of life with an end spent, or perhaps there had been some minute part of herself that had not yet slipped away into the ever expanding depths of shadow, but that cardiac tissue within her breast no longer heaves with the same mortal pace as those around her, suddenly does not recall that it was born to end. With a final thrust of deep, horrid crimson, that which flows from her facial flap is onyx, and shines like oil beneath the Sun.
As she notices this enchanting enhancement to her being, the world really begins to tilt, and sway. Looking over at the General as he speaks (something about wearing the dead), and the bumbling apology of the large girl they’d all leapt in to save (except, of course, Beloved, who had attacked to, well, attack), she scoffs, her laughter brittle, and sharp...
Even if she wobbles a bit from the blood loss.
@Wessex
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D