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05-01-2017, 11:13 AM
The tricky mouse is not pleased to see the wicked one, which the witch is glad to reply to with an overly wide, gruesome smile, her eager teeth gleaming. The backward tilt of the twice escaped prize’s ears does not deter the woman who stands on her own soil, a realm which she has bled for more than once now, and feels quite entitled to. That split expression is paired with cold, emotionless eyes, which drink, and devour, and give no light or glimmer to those who watch in return. Her giggles are the answer she gives but that terrible smile, Yr’s Weaver crooning a reply for her, one which is layered in ice. With a deep inhalation, the pale one snakes her muzzle forth, her nostrils sucking in with the obvious breath. "Is the Silver One not… afraid?" she cackles, withdrawing her sculpted features to glance at her the mouse with her silver, onyx rimmed eye to the tilted fore, its pupil, small, fluctuating in size, her eagerness to do more than talk found in that trembling eye, and the breathiness of her needy question. This is the forest of our hunting, croon the voices, as her laughter shakes the air, and the others pretend that this is social gathering, not the flanking of a clever witch by skilled wolves. "Come, come in," she adds with a sinister giggle, pulling her whole body aside, as if to open a path between she and Weaver, a brow rising deviously over her black eye, further warping the cruel mark seemingly hewn there, "we will take you, Golden Mouse, Silver Mask." rust every place that I touch |
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
