She had taken her sweet time returning to the Steppe. Roaming Helovia looking for new recruits had been trying, at best, but it was worth it. She was sure that she would have several new additions not only to the herd, but also to the Plague. A cruel smile crossed her maw. It would be so worth the discomfort of travel when she could run the vermin out of her home. It might have been surprising, the level of hatred that ran through the shadow-mare at the thought of the invaders. After all, she had only just returned from gods-know-where to rejoin the herd. It wasn't as though she knew her herdmates, or particularly cared for them. It was more or less that they had fallen to creatures so inferior. It irked her deeply, and so she plotted revenge.

The other areas that she had visited had been cold, of course. It was Frostfall, and she expected it. But returning to the Steppe, returning to this cold was almost unbearable. It was a chilling place, the frigid air shooting through the skin and directly to the bone. It made her ache all over, particularly in her still-sore shoulder. The salt water of the sea had helped to cleanse her wounds, and they had closed again, leaving her trek across the snows clean, but the waves had done little to repair the hurt in her shoulder. She was still unsure if she had fractured a bone or simply bruised it badly, but she refused to see a healer who was not a unicorn. Where was d'Artagnan when she needed him?

A sigh left the shadow-mare's maw as she arrived at the herd. Rocks piled behind the group, providing a sort of lean-to by which one could avoid the wind. This was where she went, thoroughly miserable in the cold. She noticed the pale steed, crimson-marked, and considered. She had looked all over Helovia for new recruits - why not within her own herd? They were, after all, well-known for their dislike for the vermin. With that, the jackal wandered her way through bodies, coming to a halt before the prone stallion. As always, she adopted a sickly sweet tone of voice. "Cold, are we, darling?"

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The invitation was welcomed both for his suggestion against the cold and the opportunity to speak with him. Carefully, she joined him, and was pleased to note that with the addition of another's warmth, she was considerably happier. His orbs lingered on the trinkets woven into her mane, as most did; unfortunately, she could not decipher his thoughts on the matter from his look or his corresponding question. It made things a bit perplexing as to how she should proceed, but on the other hand, he seemed simple enough, and if he should prove so, it would be fairly simple to convince him to join her cause. She might have to stretch the truth a bit, to be sure, but then where was the fun in telling the whole truth all the time?

"Oh, these?" she responded innocently, tossing her head and forcing the feathers to swirl into motion along with her dark banner. As they settled, she explained, "It's a horrid story, really." Her lashes lowered over orange orbs, as though she were shy or ashamed. Then they raised once more to meet his gaze. Leaning closer to the stallion, and speaking in hushed tones, she confided, "This isn't the first time the Pegasi and the Equines have forced me from my home. The first time, I got what revenge I could, and I kept a few feathers and teeth. Mostly I thought it would scare them off from attacking us again, but it didn't work." She shook her head as though saddened, turning her maw from him. "That's how I came to be here, you know, in Helovia."

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His eyes spoke more than his mouth, that much was certain. Psyche had always had a certain gift of reading others. It was part of why she had been able to become so powerful. That and her ability to toe the fine lines of the world, never falling off either side. Should her guess prove correct, she would be forced into yet another role with Valentine; and if not, she could always come up with a different tactic.

As it were, the fae fluttered her lashes slightly, that sweet smile appearing on her maw once more. It was an openly flirtatious look; she rather hoped that none nearby were watching, particularly Mauja. She did want to regain his trust, after all, and flirting with the herd members was likely not the way to do it. But then, he might understand, if she were to explain in private, and he did know her. He knew how she was and how she got what she wanted. The thought was a painful one, and she dismissed it. She could not afford the luxury of such mental leniency right now.

She leaned closer to him, again as though she were sharing her secrets. "You are too kind, to wish to hear of my past," she murmured. "Though parts of it are not so pleasant to some." To any racist unicorn, this should be a rather clear hint at her background, and at her present state of mind; but then, she had yet to decide if there was any intelligence to this fellow, she having done all the talking thus far.

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[OOC | D'awwww <3]

Ah, the past. His words were true; she carried her past with her everywhere she went. It was impossible to escape; even the slightest things triggered a surge of memories, most painful. Now, as her pelt brushed the stallion's, one of the better ones caught her up, leaving a distant gaze in its wake. She remembered her flirtations with Mauja, those unknowable feelings that she had felt for him. It was hollow now, and try as she might to return to the way things were, she feared that her wrongs against the FrostHeart would never become right. She had borne his seed, willingly, intending to become the Queen of the Edge; she had manipulated his right into her clutches, only for her hard work to scatter like ash on the wind when she realized that she cared... It was the only time that her careful plotting had backfired.

And yet how easy it was to slip back into the same frame of mind. She could perhaps use this one to further her goals, just as she had once used the King. The heart-marked steed seemed to be a creature of irony; she would have expected a flirtatious buck, perhaps with a bit of a seductive streak. But perhaps she had misjudged on appearance, a deadly mistake - many had died at her horn for just that. Did this realization warrant a change in the shadow-mare's plan? Perhaps. She found herself curious, now, having fed a half-truth to him for her own past. From where had he come?

She spoke slowly, as though in thought; truth be told, she did have to plan her words, this time, having not formulated them carefully beforehand. "You are right there," she began, trying to get a feel for this stallion. "What past follows you here, if I may?" It was so unlike her to ask permission; she berated herself for a moment, warning against the dangers of a slipping facade. She did not ask, she demanded; the jackal could not afford to go soft, or to appear so. She must - no, she would - maintain her appearance. Otherwise, who would trust her to lead, much less trust her to conduct battle? She would rein in her tongue, then, before she spoke again.

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The past seemed to be a sore subject for the stallion. Well, that much we have in common, the shadow-mare thought sourly. Though she had lied about her past, to an extent - for ease as much as deception, she realized now. Her memoir was a long and painful one, full of tricks and deception, distant family members, and a land not known to those in Helovia. It was easier just to make something similar up. She interrupted her own thoughts; why was she trying to validate her lie? It was of no consequence; the steed did not need to know any more about her than what she wanted him to believe. It must be the exhaustion. That was the only logical explanation for her scattered brain.

But I always have control, a small voice in the back of her cranium reminded her grumpily. Straighten up, jackal! With that, the dark fae banished the strange thoughts. For now, it would be enough to simply converse with the seemingly simple stag. She listened to his history, murmuring sympathy at the correct points in the story, gentle touching her muzzle to his shoulder once or twice. A cool wind worked its way around the rocks, and she shivered; she hoped her warm breath on his shoulder would given him some protection from the cold, though this wish was made in irony rather than true concern for his wellbeing.

He had paused. She honestly hadn't a clue what his last statement had been, so she settled for an undefined, "Hmm?" and a coy smile, fluttering her lashes gently. It seemed that he did not understand obvious flirtation, so she had reined it in and became more subtle. She hoped that her reaction was appropriate, mentally giving herself a sharp kick for losing track of the conversation. This, apparently, was not her day.

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It had been very easy to gain the stallion's trust. She assumed as much for several reasons. One, he was still talking to her. Not all of them would, recognizing the cruel glint in her orbs or the crooked, coy smile as trouble. And yet, here he was. Two, he had given his name. This was a crucial aspect of the conversation. One could do many things with a name, depending on one's intentions. If she wanted to coerce him, she could simply croon his name with a seductive smile and have him wrapped around her hoof in a heartbeat. Or, if he crossed her, she could find him by name, or send someone to find him. Oh, the possibilities; they were endless.

She was sure that he had been ridiculed for his name in the past; what mare in her right mind would name her son 'Valentine'? But, in the interest of building trust - and, though she wouldn't admit it, a lack of desire to tease the stallion - she would, instead, try a flirty response. "Well, I suppose that makes you the King of Hearts, then, darling," she informed him with a sweet smile. She hoped that this would not be an offensive comment, but rather a charming one. She wanted Valentine on her side. For some reason, it seemed as though he would be beneficial to her. "And my name is Psyche."

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There was always a way to approach others about the concept of the Plague. To some, she would simply mention the superiority of the unicorn race; for her fellow supremacists, this was enough. To others, she would be a bit more cajoling: she would wheedle them into her line of thinking, coaxing and convincing them into certainty that to be unicorn was to be superior. This was a challenge, but one she welcomed, for it broke the monotony of the simple hatred of a racist. And still others would follow her leadership simply because they aimed to please her. These were the easiest, for they would follow her blindly, trusting one whom should never be trusted. It was better than the power-hungry tendencies of the true supremacists, which she detested. As though any of them could take power from the likes of her!

Which one would Valentine be? He was not an outraged supremacist, hell-bent on revenge on those who had taken his childhood (or whatever the story was) from him. He didn't seem to be the hateful type, anyway. Nor was he the type that would need convincing. Even without the rage, he did not seem to have any love for their inferiors. So did that make him one of the simplistic ones, the ones who would follow her to please her? Perhaps. She cocked her head slightly, regarding him intently. He had just complimented her, and on her name, of all things. Such had never happened to the shadow-mare, and it momentarily confused her. Finally, the words that she was most unaccustomed to rolled off her tongue, surprising her. "Thank you, sire." It was said in a slightly joking tone, a quick bob of the head given as a bow, mimicking his flirtations from moments before. Still, she eyed him cooly, almost daring him to take advantage of her momentary lapse in fierce, deceptive power.

And then the moment passed, as she had decided how she would proceed. "I would much rather be spending this Frostfall in the Edge, as I'm sure you'd agree." A pause, as though to allow him time to agree with her. And then: "But it seems as though we will remain here until we have recovered." She turned her cranium away from him, gazing with orange eyes over the horizon. Snow blew from the ground in clouds as the wind skated over the terrain. She hated it. "Come the end of this dreadful season, I have plans to reclaim our home, myself and some of the others who have been loyal to my cause. It may not happen soon, but it will happen." This last bit was said forcefully, as though she could simply will it to happen with vehemence. Amber orbs found his again, held his gaze. "When our race reigns supreme, I would not be opposed to having one such as yourself beside me." Lashes fluttered once more, the coy tones returning to her voice. This was why she had begun this very interesting conversation, and she could now only hope for his answer - and it better be the right one.

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His vehemence surprised even her. She had, of course, assumed that he would stand on her side; she had not expected the force with which his hatred of the Qian burst from his maw. A brow raised as his form surged upwards, a war cry of sorts echoing out across the barren lands that had become their temporary home. Quietly amused, the shadow-mare dug her forelegs into the snow, heaving herself gracefully to her feet. A quick touch of muzzle to shoulder was all that was needed to convey her agreement. Words were unnecessary, and in fact may prove to ruin the crucial moment that was passing between the pair of them.

The fire roaring to life in his orbs was palpable, and she felt the stirrings of her own blaze within. This was the kind of passion that she wanted - no, needed - for the Plague to succeed. It was a passion that she craved intensely. She felt almost certain that Valentine, and others like him, would sate her desires. What more would she need, if she could gain five more like him? Their spirit mixed in with the skills of the others would prove invincible, unmatchable by the dirty rats that had formed the Qian. With this, they would succeed in their quest for their homeland, and for their reign.

A slow smile crossed her lips, the sinister look in them suddenly fading. It was a true grin, an elated smirk, the result of the exhilaration of combining forces with another that shared at least one of her end goals. Unlike her other recruits, she did not feel that she had had to play games with Valentine, but simply uncovered a shared belief in their right to their homeland. It was a good feeling, and one that she did not truly recognize. "Well, darling, with unicorns like you, we will win our coming battles." She was pleased, and did not hide it. Why should she?

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The structure of the Plague was an intricate one, and one that was likely to change. The old ways had served them well in the beginning, when their rampant racism was still hidden and none had the slightest clue of their plans. They had operated in stealth then, and it had worked well for their purposes. But now, it had become an open war. To survive, they would have to adapt. It was an issue that she would address at a future date, when she held a meeting. It would have to be soon, she realized. She had gained several new members over the past few days, and she wished to see who was still an active part of the organization. Perhaps after such a meeting, she would have a better idea of how to proceed. As it were, the simple groups within the Plague would not be enough. They would need an army. They would need spies. They would need more than a handful of warriors, the doctor, and his nurse.

Valentine's words sparked this thought process, and she hummed deep in her throat to let him know that she was thinking. She would need to distribute power - she could not be everywhere - and she would need most of those positions to go to those she trusted. Trust. The shadow-mare was incapable of the emotion in its simplest form, instead considering those who would not plot to overthrow her reign. She already knew that she would be forced to give her sister a high-ranking position, and perhaps that hardened mare Elizabeth, as well. It would serve her well to have such capable mares answering to her, but she would no more trust them with her life than she would the mare on the moon. She would need Valentine, and perhaps others, to balance their power-hungry tendencies. At least I will have Mauja, she reminded herself. In this, he will support me.

A small distraction stirred in the back of her mind as she realized that the stallion had not returned her touch. Was she really that terrifying, or did he simply not have the desire to mirror her gesture? Either way, she did not like the implications. Confused, she shoved the thought away. It wouldn't matter, so long as she held his trust and devotion. What she did not consider was the thin line between devotion and adoration - it was not a refusal to do so, but simply a lack of knowledge of such a thing. Finally, she returned her gaze to his. "Such a group has existed in the past, darling," she explained, "But that was before I took a leave of absence from Helovia." She paused at the memory, then shook her head, pushing it away.

"I'm not sure what has happened to my original comrades, but warriors are not all that we require. I'm sure that you have many fine talents that would be well put to use." It wasn't even a lie. She truly believe that he would be useful to her, both within the Plague and out. Call it stupidity to trust such instincts; tell her that she will regret thinking so well of someone. He will stab you in the back, one might tell her. You will regret allowing him to come so close. But she was a proud fae, and a stubborn one. She would stand by her analysis of the stallion.

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His muzzle against hers surprised her: her orbs widened, and she almost threw her head back scornfully. Instead, she stilled, not daring to move, not quite wanting his touch but not quite wanting to offend him by brushing the gesture aside. She exhaled, her breath mingling with his in a form of acceptance. Well, at least she knew that he would follow her and not get in her way, like many of her other recruits. That was something, even if she didn't understand what was happening.

Why had she left? Such a simple question, such a complex answer. Something foreign, almost pained, came into her eyes and she quickly cast them downward, wishing to hide the weakness. Even she wasn't sure of exactly why she had left, and she disliked this new sensation of being unsure of herself. It was different, and not in a good way. She was always in control, always sure, perhaps a little too sure. Maybe that was her downfall. She hadn't seen her downfall approaching, though it was approaching quite rapidly, and it had made her as unsettled as this little meeting. But she wouldn't run again.

For now, it was enough to turn her thoughts to how to answer the steed's question. She would tell the truth if she knew what it was, and this knowledge made her uncomfortable. What was happening here? She didn't quite understand, but she wasn't sure that she entirely disliked it. Her thoughts were scattered, she was flustered, and she'd much rather just take control of the situation once more. But that wouldn't do. She didn't even know what the situation was anymore, so how was she to regain power?

"I... suppose you could say that someone did something," she replied hesitantly. "But it wasn't anyone's fault except my own, if that's what you mean." It was the truest answer that she could give, but she knew that he expected more. "My daughter had just been born, and I found myself very confused about my purpose in life. I left to fix myself." There. That should be enough, or would be for most. But then, this stallion was not like most. Or at least she was not unaffected by him as she was with most.

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