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 power loves not the light of day
The shadow-rat had guts, she would give her that. The laughter would not stop; the madness which had taken hold of her would not leave. The feather-brain's words did not change the jackal's cackling; it was only when she lunged forward, snapping irritably at the canine, that the Empress deigned to move. She dodged the blow easily, and was about to call a taunt to the retreating figure, until she realized where her path was taking her. The horn. It was quivering in the sand, and that dirty, filthy bitch was going after it. No, no, no, no, no. This was all wrong. It had all gone so horribly wrong. She sobered. The silence was suddenly oppressing. The skyrat turned back to the shade with a half-grimace on her maw, for in her teeth she held the better part of the Lady's horn. Psyche nearly howled in disgust and frustration - the rat's mouth was on her precious crown. A small part of her wanted to cry; a larger part wanted to rip the stupid creature limb from limb; but the part that won out was the part that rendered her momentarily speechless as she swelled with shock and rage. "How dare you - how dare you - put it - you don't - NO!" she spluttered furiously. She took a step forward. "Put. It. Down." she demanded, her voice shaking. She had lost everything. She could not lose this. The snarl started in the back of her throat as a low groan, built into a rumble and then a full out shriek of rage. She did not move closer, not wishing to become impaled upon her own horn - oh, the irony! - but she did not leave. She would not leave, not until this stupid rat gave her back her horn! "Talk talk talk." @[Shadow] in darkness is where it thrives
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![[Image: psycheicon.png]](http://i800.photobucket.com/albums/yy285/schwartze_asylum/psycheicon.png)
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
