Illynx, too, felt more at ease discussing politics, feeling that the clarity of each notion was so vibrantly in tune between the pair of women, the nuances that would need be stated in other company easily skipped over, understood without being spoken. From Psyche, there was no rebuke to the drastic and cruel ideas of the corporal, no disdain upon her features as the snide little wench that was Illynx condemned so many innocents to death, or to a life of suffering, as was the case with the Assassins. Never once had the decadent warrior felt disgust or coldness from her friend, at least not beyond the frigid state of her persona; she expected no miracles from the Empress, only her friendship, and so fluid and intangible was her companionship, ever present it seemed in the dark tinted jar of Illynx's world.

If not for this woman, she thought, golden eyes tinkling and her lips curving into a sweet and faintly sad smile at the glimmer that bloomed behind Psyche's eyes, I would have forever been alone. It was perhaps true; her life before the Plague had been dismal, a trail of tragedies that had broken her soul into so many shining, sharp pieces. It had taken this mare, this proud river of a being, to show her that the state of her soul was valuable, that her heart, while broken, was capable of tearing paths through stone just as Psyche herself did. Perhaps I might have died, wouldn't that have amused them? The others, the herd that she had been born to that had let her parents be murdered like dogs and had outcasted her for what her family had believed in. The irony that Illynx might have been saved, that Helovia would be one less black hearted murderer had they forgiven her for her father's sins, was surely more amusing to think of than the revelry they would have felt had she decided to cease trying to live. Let them eat their own hearts. No. Let them be force fed each others hearts, still pumping blood into air while their eyes roll in terror.

Perhaps that was why she loved Psyche so much; surely the ebony unicorn would delight in such a spectacle.

The Dark Empress' chiming laughter fell into place at the precisely perfect moment in the reverie, just as the life faded from the face of one of the more cruel in their antics, his sister's blood dripping down his horror stricken and lifeless mask. The delicate face of the corporal bobbed in accordance to the Lady's words, her eyes twinkling mischievously in the dim light provided by the Haruspex and the other magical sources about the Basin, silence falling between the pair of bitter and hate filled women. "Fools have uses, however," she began, sweetly feminine voice soft and slow, her thoughts trailing along with her words; perhaps they were not worth bothering to assist in their struggles, but if the Assassins were desperate to obtain a herd land, the proper tugs on the strings of their emotions would allow the Plague to manipulate their ranks to their own devilish whims, "but only if they are desperate; only if we are given the proper... leverage, so to speak, on a situation. But it is all only a house of leaves, frail and quick to collapse with the wrong wind." She trailed off, her lips forming a pouting and thoughtful line, eyebrows folding down towards her eyes, aware that such strategies relied entirely too much on circumstances playing out in their favor. Unless they had some means to control the outcast band should they realize they were being utilized as pawns in a greater game, it was too risky; even if the Assassins were truly less talented overall than the Plague's warriors, she knew that many in the Basin would not defend the racists from the hammer they had brought down upon themselves. "We need more soldiers, sister, more implants residing among the enemy. A spider is nothing without her web."