they come as ants do for a fresh meal, bodies and ships
sail from the darkness and breathe their wicked songs, demented
and crazed songbirds in hope of the sun again.
she sees many. and so she will recount them, in order.

the first one the wind sends her is a jester, she screams authority,
and the dark lady surely knows that this must be the queen. a queen, she changes,
as she remembers the white general mentioning two leaders, not one, singular.
the jester queen, she thinks, and almost cackles at the mental lyrics. but the jester
queen is gorgeous, her glass weaponry protrudes from her forehead, and her likes
and respect for this mare rocket to the heavens. she is a horned one, she is! and she is a queen,
and that makes it all the better.

she dips her frame in respect for the jester queen, forcing her
nostrils not to wrinkle at the unpleasant smell of the earth below.
when she rises again,
she addresses her before Arlo.
it is not lengthy, for she can understand when one wishes
not to speak directly with her, merely a statement of acknowledgment
to her rankings.
"my queen."
she whispers, in greetings.

the second she sees is but a young one, with wings of that of a bird,
and the shiny golden coat of a beetle. she comes with a smile upon
her maw, going openly up to the jester queen, and she hears the jester's
name upon the songbirds maw. seele, she says in her mind, tasting the name.
it fits.

she has a canine with her.
though, she notes, it does not look like
a regular beast.
"little songbird, greetings."
her lyrics are soft and gentle in directs to the young creation,
for although the wings at her back may be a disappointment,
she is still a child.

and then comes a ungraceful one, without that of weaponry
or wings, and yet they seem crazed. they bellow into the air before
crashing into the open, they are almost the same as
the white general, and yet she feels her elegant bodice
press closer to the cloudy flesh of the brute. it is automatic. and though she feels
distaste at the closeness, she feels a tad bit safer from the crazed brute.
his orbs are clouded.
he is no different. but he is special, too. a beast.
plaguebearer.

but she has no time to respond to him, for another comes,
this ant comes elegantly from the shadows, her mane that of
red wine, and her blue orbs that of the clear blue sky,
or the endless oceans. she gives a small smile
to the jester queen, and to the little songbird,
before resting on her.

she can see the new one is judging her, appraising
her with the looks of one who may recruit a warrior to the
army, and she notes that this must also be the second commander.
vermillion. she is the vermillion goddess.
and she repeats what she did in response to the jester queen,
she bows before the goddess, again, forcing herself not
to gag at the scents rising from the putrid earth.
but she does it, somehow, and rises herself again, indigo orbs
gazing at the vermillion one.
she speaks, lyrics gentle, almost kind.
she asks her her name, such a simple question,
and she replies in a equally soft, but respectful tone.
"my name, vermillion goddess? water hemlock, goddess. i am circuta."

and then the next two arrive in short succession of one another.
the first is a horned one, and again, she notes this with
no small degree of satisfaction.
this one is dark, her apparel not so vast from her own,
but what marks her as a specialty dish is that she has not one
weaponry, but two, long antlers that gleam
dangerously in the dim moonlight. she has the appearance
of one who is used to war, carnage, and she deems her the war goddess
in appropriation. she is covered in mud, and this helps
none her appearance of one that has just come from a battlefield.
she asks who she is,
and the dark lady hesitates to respond. she is not addressing her,
and it is not the correct way to respond if she were to
interrupt. and yet, then again, who was to respect her here,
if she shrivels away as a limp mouse, ready for the catching?

no, she knows they won't,
and so she speaks, directing her night sky
orbs unto the muddied one.
"circuta, war goddess, is my chosen name. it is a pleasure." she speaks her words
still in respect, she is not rude.
and it is in such that she speaks no further
when the war goddess directs her attention at the plaguebringer.

the last is a moon mistress, silvery and almost glowing in the light
from above. she does not speak, so she does not direct her attention towards her.
she simply gazes at her for a second,
before switching back to the queen and the vermillion goddess,
and she continues to press her black apparel against the white general,
hoping he will continue from here.

@[Arlo] @[Seele] @[Amara] @[Oxy] @[Eris] @[Agrona] @[Sonya]
[ Posting Circuta first, instead of Arlo with Stephy's permisson ]