The light crusting of snow crunched beneath her hoof falls as the moon watched, the frigid mistress cool and composed upon her shadowy pedestal. The stars gazed down at the pale mare balefully, pin pricks of light like so many forgotten gods as clouds slid over the sky's visage. There was nothing kind about this night, there was nothing peaceful about the silence that crept along the spines of strangers.

Not that she minded.

She was a pale ghost wreathed in mists, a wraith painted upon a silver edged dreamscape; and she would admit, she reveled in the haunting feel of her surroundings. In fact, one could even say the winged serpent was enjoying herself. There was a dark chuckle that came rumbling up from her chest and sprouted from parted coral lips. Those self same lips had twisted upward into a crude caricature of glee as the woman continued her midnight stroll; how far she had come from the pleasure houses of her birth and how terrified the denizens of that sanded city must be to know that one day they would see her once more.

How she craved the tang of blood and the pull of muscle.

It had been several long weeks since her Elephant King and she had thrown themselves at one another. They had been a pair of banshees rippling in and out of the past as they battled both one another and the demons that had made homes of their minds. Another chuckle snaked out and into the chilled air as she toyed with the thought of being nothing more than a haunted house; something empty and volatile that was only standing due to the courtesy of whatever cruel entity deigned to occupy it.

Aesthetic.

Yet her thoughts were interrupted by a deafening bellow not even two wingspans to her left. Ears tilting to the side while her wings tightened against her ribs, Orithia caught the scent of a stallion and felt her lips twist into a smirk at the delightful timing. Moving toward what she could now see was a behemoth made of black and white skin, the mare let her hips sway freely, invitingly. Molding her countenance into one of demure interest, the ivory rose puckered her lips and tucked away her thorns.

If only for the moment.

"Why, what treasure have I stumbled across? Can Frostfall truly be so kind?" Her voice was a honeyed purr, a delectable and tantalizing mix of allure and anonymity as she sidled up to the stranger's well-muscled left side. Pressing the length of her body against his, the mare stretched up to where her lips brushed a shadowed cheek, "Was it me you were calling for, darling? Was it my name you want on your lips?"

The moment the last syllable fell from her tongue, the mare lunged, her jaws reaching for the stallion's jugular without so much as a thought for caution.

Half-assed foreplay just wasn't her goal tonight.