Her eyes flutter as she returns to herself, slowly blinking her lids down over paper dry eyes that have stared unmoving for some time now. Blinking again, to clarify the image of the bulky wench shouting at her Master’s throne, her lips twitch up into a gleeful smile as another arrives, as if summoned, too, by the shouting.
"Fuck?" giggles and saunters the woman towards the patch-backed hellion in her God’s sacred Marsh; those giggles become staggered guffaws and breathless laughter, the sort that reveals, immediately, that fear must be forced into the heart of a woman such as she, who fears nothing, especially under her Master’s Tall Dark, "you?"
Those chortles are sucked in with a wet, gasping breath, her eyes narrowing, her child-like voice suddenly insidious, with the sharp ring of steel and a razor’s edge, peering from among her unnatural, displaced giggles.
"No, no, no," slowly shakes and tilts the murderous mare’s pale crown, her backward ears wobbling with each cryptic, rolling sway, snake-like; suddenly, she stops, her head wrenching to the right, so that it seems at odds with her neck, as if it were dangling, or broken, "talk, perhaps, but not fuck. If you are serious in your claim, Profane One, then Beloved accepts the challenge of your sword, for the honor of receiving the Undying God’s."
A twisted smile crosses the white witch’s lips; the Undying One, She Who Walks From the Ashes, and whom has known very few who share her… gift.
"She who dies last wins," tells the demoness of the rules, glancing to the third party as suddenly as her head had tilted, its position suddenly righted again in the sway of her slender neck, "you will witness, yes?"
[ OOC: LOL SO BELOVED HAS NO IDEA OBVIOUSLY hahahahahaha also sorry I couldn’t help myself :’D Beloved also can’t help but mess with people in the Marsh, and somehow I think Ingrid's material on her will be A+. Too many wins to pass ]
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D