The Empress grew fonder of her brethren as the days passed, but she held a special place in her heart for those who had sworn allegiance to her and her cause. Of course, many would argue that she had no heart; but then, who had ever gotten close enough to know? Mauja, a small voice whispers from the back of her mind, sending a spear of pain through her chest. She could not shake the dream that she had fallen into only a few nights past, a dream that she had awoken from sweat-soaked and shivering, a dream that had been both too real and not real enough, a dream that had left her at once hopeful and terrified...

Enough, a voice in her mind snarled. This is folly, this is weakness, this is stupidity...

And yet...

It was just another day in the Aurora Basin. As she weaved her way through the herd, she greeted several by name, while others simply watched her pass. They bore her no love, she knew, not in the way that they had loved the FrostHeart. They liked her well enough, she supposed, if only because she had gotten them here, because the god had given her power. Resentment coursed through her - the power that she had was a lie. It was not earned. It was not hers. She was in the Time God's shadow. Had she always fallen under someone? As she reviewed her history, she came to the conclusion that it must be so: her father, first, and then her sister, and then the Ice King, and now the Time God. How had her betters managed to get more powerful over time, while she had only stayed the same?

Voices drove the thoughts from her mind as quickly as they had arrived. Hers was a silent approach, relying on the shade of the trees for cover. It was so easy to blend in, so simple to sneak up on unsuspecting individuals. And what she saw made her furious and, then, ecstatic in turn. She was a young pegasus, a beauty if not for those accursed wings, all black and silver and innocence. And beside her, the Lady was pleased to note, walked Crowley, one of her own sworn. Perhaps it was the familiar glint in his eyes, or perhaps she just knew her own very well, but she was sure of one thing: the youngling was there for her pleasure.

"I..I think i'd rather just got straight home if you..don'y mind?"

She steps from her hideaway. "But darling," the words are a pout, "I'm sure dear Crowley's friends would simply love to meet you! You wouldn't want to be rude now, would you?" A wicked smile is cast towards the flicka, the Empress not caring if the fae was scared. "My name is Psyche, and I would simply love to show you around." She shares a conspiratorial wink with Crowley, a sight that the pegasus simply couldn't have seen, being on the wrong side of the jackal's body.

[W/C | ---]

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Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.

The shadow-mare did so like a challenge.

Her cohort's words were still hanging in the air when the little pegasus tried to flee. Psyche laughed, springing into a gallop as she called orders over her shoulder. "The General will have to wait his turn, I'm afraid. First to her gets the first blow. Disable the wings. She's no use to us if she escapes that way." Her words might have been cold, emotionless, but the thrill of the chase made her sound almost cheerful. Oh, how she had needed something like this! She would have to treat Crowley somehow for so proving his worth and lifting her spirits in one fell swoop. Feathers swirled in the wind created by her movement, molars clacking against one another. The sound of madness, the sound of death.

The jackal is faster than the youngling, her longer legs stretching her body into a leaner form. Perhaps she should have shifted - she would have been even smaller, even more streamlined then, and she could have leaped, bitten, torn - but it would have taken too long. Alas, perhaps another day. Even in her normal form, she easily overtook the younger fae, darting in front of her (not so close that she would be trampled, of course), far enough ahead to allow her time to stop, but close enough to prevent her from taking off. Or so she intended. A maniacal grin plastered itself to her maw, her keen amber orbs hungry and malicious. It had been too long, she realized - perhaps this would be another addition to her collection.

[W/C | ---]

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Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.

The shadow-mare smiled sweetly at the skyrat as the youngling slid to a halt. Her fear shone from wild, rolling orbs, and its presence was like a drug to the Empress. She drank it in, absorbing it into her blood, its effect calming after the adrenaline rush of the chase. Crowley, too, was a pleasure to watch, leaping smoothly from a gallop into a rear, leaving a wing disabled with one fell swoop, one perfectly aimed strike... "Why, Crowley, darling, I'd no idea that your talents had been so wasted of late." Her words were lazy, nonchalant, but she regarded the flicka with a predatory gaze, malice oozing from every pore.

"Wha..What do..do..y..you wa..want?"

The filly was trying to back away, her voice heavy with panic and despair. The jackal was empowered, in her element, soaking in the terror like the sun's rays. She took several steps closer to the youngling, walking in long, ground-covering strides, remaining a block in the creature's path but managing to place herself slightly to one side as well. She aimed a sharp nip at the feather-brain's other wing, the one that had not yet been disabled. She intended to draw blood, a bite that may not keep the flicka from flight, but would merely cause pain, scars, bruises - but then, Crowley had already prevented escape, had he not?

"My dear," she said pleasantly, "isn't it quite obvious that we want you? Dead." She smiled again, poison dripping from ebony lips. She slunk closer, able to lower her voice to a more sinister register, to impose her supremacy upon this horrendously inferior creature. "Oh, but don't worry," she added cheerfully. "You won't die yet. Only on our terms, you see." Ah, power. How she had missed this.

[W/C | ---]

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Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.

Something about the young skyrat reminded her of her first kills. She herself had been terribly young herself, and her actions were driven by a desperation that was not present in her adult life. Oh, how she had longed for her father's approval, how she had wished for him to consider her in the light that he considered the more colorful siblings. But she was not blessed with his favor upon her birth, and so she had had to prove herself as they never did. She had never understood why Paladin had so carelessly thrown their father's approval to the side; she would have taken his place in a heartbeat, but she had been born without the bloody coloration that denoted his bloodline. Had she even been his? It was a question she pondered even now.

But seeing her, one could not question that she was indeed Riekahn's daughter in mind if not in body. The feathered beast's fear fed her, fueled her drive to cause more harm. "My... my friends are wonderful!" she cries, her words stubborn but full of fear. Physical pain aside, the shade longed to plant the seed of doubt in the youngling's mind, to make her question all that she held dear. Mental pain, indeed, was so much more potent than physical pain. A broken wing could heal; the mental scars from this encounter would not. And so her response: "Oh, yes, dear," she said lazily as her counterpart attacked the fae again. "I'm sure they're lovely. And yet, I must wonder... where are they now? Where are they when you need them, hmm?" She laughed, a cruel, mirthless sound. "And you call them friends?"

Life would be easier if the skyrats would accept their required demise, she mused, but it would be ever-so-much less interesting. Sure, if this one would simply lay down in the dirt and accept her imminent death, it would make things simple, but then what fun would they have? She would not be able to drink in the pain and suffering, she would not be able to enjoy toying with her prey. No, instead, she would keep her alive. A movement caught her eye, and she watched as a brilliant blue butterfly settled on the femme's brow, where a horn might lay. The jackal regards it shrewdly, wondering if it is significant. Perhaps she was only paranoid that the Time God might decide to rescind her leadership if he disapproved of her ways, but she took it as a sign. Still, it was a very small sign, so perhaps they would continue. Later.

"Just food for thought, darling, but I might reconsider my definition of 'friend,' were I you," she told the rat with a sickly-sweet smile. To Crowley, she gave simple orders. "Take her somewhere, one of the caverns, maybe. Don't let the others -" she referenced the non-racists of their herd, "- see. I don't care what you do with her once you get her there. And thanks ever so much for the gift, darling. Rest assured that I will not forget." She winked at him, offered a true smile, though it still dripped poison, and watched the fae for a response. She did so love her terror.

[W/C | ---]

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Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.