<font color=8F66AD>so deliver me from this</font>

So close... so close to the edge; so close to completely shattering. Why keep up the appearance of humility while the rest of the world continued to betray her? Why take her children? Why take her mate? Did they want a war - did they want to die? The Angels... they had come with words so sweet and yet when they spoke, that Azrael bastard slithered in behind her back to take her Vidar. They took him when he needed her to comfort him, to bathe his wounds... they took him. They took Vague. Who else did they want? Would they take her Celesdue? Her Caligula? Would they take the young that had begun to form in her innards? They wanted to take and take until she had nothing left - but no. She would take from them first. Jaidah... she had killed Finley, slayed him in the dead of night behind the Queen's back. Yes, yes, it was good. Isola would know the pain of her beloved being taken from her. If they could not have the male her heart desired, Kane, then they would take the male her soul was a part of.

Through the darkness she moved, each step slow and predatory - she moved with effortless grace, her nose close to the earth as she shifted through the snow. She had been following the trail from Iromar hoping to find Azrael and her son alone in the woods - she would take him then, and she would not stop this time. She had warned Heyel - she had warned him that if they did not stop, then she would turn to devouring every last inch of them. No, their souls deserved no reprieve for the madness they caused. Hardly concerned with the idea of silence, she had no fear of those that lingered in the night - why should she? What did she have to fear now that almost everything had been taken from her? Her children were gone - even those in Iromar were wrapped up in their own worlds, hardly recognizing their mother's desperation. She was completely and utterly alone it seemed, or so her mind would have her believe.

To her left, the sound of a twig cracking - the subtle sound of pelt on pelt, the sound of a body shifting through the snow. Almost instantly, she stiffened, her tail arched over her rump as her own head slowly began to turn towards the assailant. As she turned, her lips quivered and twitched over her teeth, her gaze livid with rage as she anticipated the form before her - white, splashed with the cursed red of Angel blood - or black, marked by that single white ear or that behemoth of a creature, Ava. It would be one of them, surely on the way to take more of her possessions - she would not stand for it. Blind in the dark in those moments, she began to creep forward, hackles like knives across her back at her approach. A hissing like sound rose in her throat - it only stopped the moment her eyes found the others' form in the darkness. Black, black, black but cloaked in the red of the Angels but no... no, he was not an Angel. He smelt of nothing - not of Diveen or the flesh of Isola, the flesh of Heyel. She stopped completely, once more rigged as a stone as her gaze hungrily searched for the others - her ears fluttered forward, head slowly tilted on its axis.

"No, no, no... not Angel, no," she hissed beneath her breath, brows furrowed slightly before she began to sniff in the direction of the male once more, so desperate to find some kind of evidence on the boy. He was clean... fresh. He was large, yes, so much like the build of that bastard Azrael but there was danger in him - an aura radiated from him, perhaps the scent of blood long since dried.

"Safe, yes," she babbled to herself, nodding in her own confirmation. She stood but ten or so feet from him, her stark white pelt blending into the snow though remaining ever so radiant beneath the fickle moonlight. Perhaps she had been beautiful in her rational times but now she exuded a certain feral-ness; eyes wide, livid, body moved at a strange, stiffened pace and her eyes searched constantly. Every inch of the male was observed, noted and received with a short nod as if to reiterate her findings.

Not an Angel. But what then? Demon? Like Fatality - like Tobias? Or a weak one - like the wolves the congregated in the craters for small talk.

"But how safe?" she suddenly queried, her head suddenly tilted to the opposite axis - she asked him. She asked him with a voice so innocent, so quiet that it struggled to find its way through the darkness as she starred across at him, eyes focused on his own dark pits. She remained completely motionless - it would have been easy to mistake her for a mere stone or natural formation had it not been for the ever present movement of her ears. They searched. They searched endlessly for the bastard Azrael.

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