Hope; the grand hope, the magnificent hope, the powerful and fantastical thing that create dreams and instills rebellion in the times of darkness. Her darkness. The darkness Confutatis promised herself to bring, and longed to bring with every bone in her body, with her heart greedy and dark; her ambitions would not be sated, not today, not until she ruled with her iron first and mouth of acid, until this world was under her hard-hearted grip.

If only they could truly see her; see past the scars and past the hard white mask on her face. See her cruelty, see her ambitions, see her for how horrific she was down to the marrow of her bones. How she killed her own child, how malevolent and hated she was, how she caused chaos with a hungry passion wherever she walked, how her sweet dreams were the nightmares of any. No intentions she withheld to remain with the Asylum for long. Shrouded in the twisted sickness of her sooty mind, there lay a thousand jewels, crafted carefully into dark existence, ideas and plots and plans of terrible sins to commit and have been committed.

The murder of her own child is only the tip of the iceberg. Other monstrosities warp her; stories hardly dared to be spoken, and when they are murmured, they are whispered by the warmth of a campfire and in the safe halls of a well-protected stronghold. For the black gates to her black heart is closed, the eye watching over them both, protecting her from the shining knights in silver armour who would cleanse her of her evils. She loves herself; she embraces her blackness with a passion, a passion like the addicted man looking for his drugs.

Lady Death walked the night and she carried it with her, as did her promises of death that she carried emblazoned on her head.

After she had embraced war with a beast in the Heart of Helovia, she disappeared into the night, without word nor leaving trace behind her meandering path. Confutatis did not bother herself with exhaustive explanations to the Asylum. As for as the black mare was concerned, to be associated with them was only for one reason- self-gain. Tread carefully, for her promises are empty, her vows lies, and her oaths squashed as easily as a bug beneath her cracked hoof; too bad Glassfox did not see that, or overlooked it, thinking of 'better nature'.

Too bad indeed.

With plans of her own in mind, the mare concocted of warlord and rape, blood and pain, stalked ever north, dreaming of conquest, the brief era of time where she ruled irrevocably before the resistors begin resisting, and came to steal her throne back, returning a world of madness and calamity to peace and quiet. Her own greedy, hungry followers would turn on her, snapping vicious fangs, chasing her away, pleading mercy. Then, and only then, Confutatis would slink away, leaving them to die as she moved forth, surviving after doing just a little more 'bad stuff'.

She stopped by the moonlight-fractured waters and watched the river go tumbling down its bed. A light wind chilled her thin, slightly mangy pelt; the stars were not hidden by clouds, not today. All was peaceful; for now.

@[Belial]