Something about the young skyrat reminded her of her first kills. She herself had been terribly young herself, and her actions were driven by a desperation that was not present in her adult life. Oh, how she had longed for her father's approval, how she had wished for him to consider her in the light that he considered the more colorful siblings. But she was not blessed with his favor upon her birth, and so she had had to prove herself as they never did. She had never understood why Paladin had so carelessly thrown their father's approval to the side; she would have taken his place in a heartbeat, but she had been born without the bloody coloration that denoted his bloodline. Had she even been his? It was a question she pondered even now.

But seeing her, one could not question that she was indeed Riekahn's daughter in mind if not in body. The feathered beast's fear fed her, fueled her drive to cause more harm. "My... my friends are wonderful!" she cries, her words stubborn but full of fear. Physical pain aside, the shade longed to plant the seed of doubt in the youngling's mind, to make her question all that she held dear. Mental pain, indeed, was so much more potent than physical pain. A broken wing could heal; the mental scars from this encounter would not. And so her response: "Oh, yes, dear," she said lazily as her counterpart attacked the fae again. "I'm sure they're lovely. And yet, I must wonder... where are they now? Where are they when you need them, hmm?" She laughed, a cruel, mirthless sound. "And you call them friends?"

Life would be easier if the skyrats would accept their required demise, she mused, but it would be ever-so-much less interesting. Sure, if this one would simply lay down in the dirt and accept her imminent death, it would make things simple, but then what fun would they have? She would not be able to drink in the pain and suffering, she would not be able to enjoy toying with her prey. No, instead, she would keep her alive. A movement caught her eye, and she watched as a brilliant blue butterfly settled on the femme's brow, where a horn might lay. The jackal regards it shrewdly, wondering if it is significant. Perhaps she was only paranoid that the Time God might decide to rescind her leadership if he disapproved of her ways, but she took it as a sign. Still, it was a very small sign, so perhaps they would continue. Later.

"Just food for thought, darling, but I might reconsider my definition of 'friend,' were I you," she told the rat with a sickly-sweet smile. To Crowley, she gave simple orders. "Take her somewhere, one of the caverns, maybe. Don't let the others -" she referenced the non-racists of their herd, "- see. I don't care what you do with her once you get her there. And thanks ever so much for the gift, darling. Rest assured that I will not forget." She winked at him, offered a true smile, though it still dripped poison, and watched the fae for a response. She did so love her terror.

[W/C | ---]

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Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.