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Peculiar heterochromic eyes scrutinize the pale-maned lady wickedly, something she is entirely unused to. Raised as the intangible daughter of death's king, Lothíriel has never been privy to such disrespect, such wicked intentions; a gaze that cuts through whimsical lies and veiled grace to expose selfish desires. While she cannot predict what ends the leviathan has in store for her, the roan maiden knows it can only be vile, deplorable. The behemoth takes a step towards her, the ground almost buckling beneath his massive steps, but she remains in her place, prideful and accosting. His wicked tongue corrupts her father's title in a manner which causes her tail to lash with irritation, though her countenance remains impassive. The Reaper's daughter will not waver—she has the blood of gods and kings and saints after all, but her heart cannot help from throbbing uncontrollably when the two dragons land on their master. They might be a sign of damned blood, but she can recognize the danger they pose to her; it is common knowledge that dragons' fire is the hottest known, so she must behave with this brute lest her flowers be tarnished by the reptilian queens.
He demands to know what she sought to take from him, and lilac eyes drift towards the feather tethered in the golden dragon's tail. After a moment of jealous contemplation, her gaze returns to the sable colossus. "Your feather," Lothíriel declares, nodding towards it. How lovely it would look on the queen of flowers, resting peacefully on a bed of moonspun hair and glistening blossoms, but instead it belongs to a brute and his ravenous lizards. Thunder crackles ominously overhead, and the first pinpricks of rain stain her sterling coat with little dark drops; it reminds Lothíriel of her mother, with all her rain and virtues. Did Huyana's graces trickle down the family line? No, the roan girl thinks; she is her father's daughter, callous and cold. The golden dragon growls, the malicious sound like the threat of lightning. She studies the hybrid defiantly, chin thrust upwards. "What do you want of me?" Will he maim her for the crime she committed against him? lust for comfort suffocates the soul / this relentless restlessness liberates me
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@Abraham
