Killer. That was a word she knew, a thing she was. Murderer. The word had a particular lilt to it that tasted divine on her tongue and sounded sweet in her ear. She understood, as soon as Grimoire answered her initial reaction, that the two words were one in the same. Perhaps her mind was somewhat haywire, a little off kilter, but the synapses still fired within her brain, and she was capable of understanding what was inferred. Taking to it immediately, Raum claimed the title and made it her own. Am Raum. Am Murderer. Am Perfect, she thought, though this was obvious to her and thus left unspoken. And it should be plain to the other, the not-perfect, for she was a reflection of one near perfection, but lacking. The color that tinged her fur took away from the blackness that should have consumed her. Even Raum had a dusting of gray hairs along her abdomen, but they did not detract from the darkness in her face. The darkness in her mind.

Grimoire. Also a Murderer. "Hhmmmmmm," Raum pondered, thoughtful for a moment. This meant, of course, that not all murderers were perfection. But then, her sire had been a wolf-killer - a murderer by this woman's account. And he had been half black, half white, with a blaze of blood-crimson along his sides. Her dam had been the opposite of perfection - white and white and more white. Only when red stained her head and chest from a kill did Raum see any beauty in her mother. Or at least, what she could remember of her. There was no capacity within her mind to truly hold any grudge, feel any disdain towards the wolves who had coupled to create her and her brethren. She'd been separated from them at far too young an age, and never learned of love and hate. Emotions were something unfamiliar to her, other than the thrill of the chase and the obsession over a kill.

Grimoire's question refocused her emerald optics, which had seemed to almost drift off into another world as she speculated on how Murderer and Perfection could overlap, and yet also be unassociated. The way she defined the world within her mind was convoluted. "Yes, yes....and no," she replied, her eyes dancing mischievously. She wasn't ever truly alone. Not when her belly was full with a meal. Her tail twitched, and suddenly her head swooped low to grab the ear that had been severed from the head of her male. All at once she launched upwards, lifting her forequarters off the ground but keeping her hind legs planted firmly, and she tossed the ear into the air. Before it descended back to the snowy ground, her head dropped and she looked into Grimoire's eyes. See? She was not alone, there was a wolf ear just there, indicating the presence of another. And then the ear flopped into the snow once more.

"You can't change your nature. Some fear you. Not me! Some loathe you. Nobody likes you. That's just the way it is!"