Words pour from Confutatis’s mouth, she speaks of respect which makes the Blood Prince laugh. His laughter rings off the cave walls, condescending and cold. It drowns out the sound that comes from the mare’s familiar. As his face settles back into a glower he snorts. “A bold statement Confutatis,” Déodat states her name as if it is a foul taste upon his tongue, “you’ve given me no reason to respect you. Your race condemns you to be nothing more than a carrier of defective blood, destined to be nothing more than a lowly slave." The mare had said her piece and now he wishes for nothing more to write her off and move on. There are far better things he could be doing with his time. Yet as much as he wishes for her to leave, he could always saunter off. Nothing is stopping him from leaving this stone covered cavern. Surely the demoness wouldn’t be bold as to follow him?

On she goes again, demanding to cease his ‘vulgar’ terms, and she even goes as far as mentioning their first meeting. Déodat’s lips twitch slightly into a smirk as he drifts back to that night. A foolish coice on his part, but in the end she had been the one rejected. They were two individuals destined to be nothing more than foes. His hatred of course runs deeper than simply the lack of a horn upon her skull face, oh yes, the hatred for so easily luring him in despite her inferiority. “Don’t mistake that time for anything special my darling, and I surely wouldn’t be so bold as to call me friend. You were a harlot for a brief moment of pleasure, and once the darkness came you became nothing to me.” Bold words are pouring off his tongue, and his doesn’t underestimate the might of this wild temptress.

Something conspires between the bonded pair, he notes the peculiar clattering of the fox’s teeth, but he pays it not much mind. Being so close to a mind as demented as hers Déodat pitied the creature. Damned from the very start of its existence to be nothing more than a scavenging worm like it’s mistress. For a brief moment the Blood Prince dares to compare the mutt to the whimsical creature that always came in toe with Lena. Daring to think of his friend simply reminds him all the more to leave behind this nuisance and find other corners to brood. But the game with his wily harlot isn’t quite over yet. Déodat wishes to have the last word in this moment filled with tension.

“Why not be on your way? I’ve made it clear I don’t desire your company and yet you still linger.” Déodat dares to step closer, oblivious to the wicked magic radiating off of the she-devil. As he draws nearer he can feel the magic against his flesh and a hiss of agony escapes from his lips as he takes several steps back. The Blood Prince looks down at his legs and can see portions of flesh rotten and decaying, and small patches upon his chest and neck match the foul marks upon his legs. “So, you have new tricks.” His voice is strained from the pain. “Your magic is as vile as your malevolent soul.” There is no describing the pain that he is feeling, and he tries to withstand it, but after several moments he finally winces and releases a hiss, expressing the agony of his flesh.

[Apologies if I got the results of her magic wrong. Let me know and I’ll edit the post.]

"talk talk talk"