THE DUCHESS;

EVERYBODY'S LOOKING FOR SOMETHING

Well, it had been worth a shot. Not knowing the relationship, and only knowing both members of the couple by reputation alone, the Duchess had hoped her swing would strike true, but alas. The jig was up. Still, the expression shift was more than enough for the Duchess to steal herself against anything the half-naked woman could try, so the teleportation caused no flinch. Was a bit close for the Duchess’s preferences, but she tilted her head slightly to listen.

It was a strange feeling, having body parts that were wholly unfamiliar already, grabbed and squeezed. It a pulling a muscle in your wing when they were first growing, or using a muscle you’d never needed to use before. Still, the Duchess watched as the kitten laid claims to the body that, for now, was under foreign control. Small dogs had big voices when they were threatened. Wolves bit instead. As the pirate continued, the Duchess questioned whether the woman had thought this through completely. It seemed rather counterproductive to threaten harm against someone you wanted to protect from it, and for at least a few days, the Duchess would have the body. Any vengeance would be against Mallos as much as it was against the Duchess.

The Duchess took a step back, returning personal space to its rightful place. “I-I was just messing around. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Voice softened considerably, apologetically and her eyes followed suit. “I thought it would be a good joke. I didn’t, I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

She wanted so badly to mock the pirate, a person known for breaking the laws of the land, for laying laws of her own. The Duchess didn’t dabble with rules either. Besides, threats weren’t nearly so terrifying when she had divinity on her side. The Duchess didn’t even need to look at the magic going on to know that behind Croe, a knife had risen and was coming nearer to the fairy’s back, aimed dead center at the space between her last thoracic vertebra and the first lumbar.

A hair’s width away from the fabric, the knife vanished and the Duchess hissed through gritted teeth at the searing pain in her wrist where the cuff had been pointed out just moments before. Frustrated and hating others witness her pain, the Duchess flung her uninjured arm toward the woman and off she went. There had been no location in mind, nor precision in the action, simply teleporting the vicious flea away.

The Duchess knew it wouldn’t be a permanent solution to the aggravation, and quickly glanced at the cuff and what should have been her hand. It was mangled and decayed: bone with withered, blackened flesh. It moved, but each attempt was excruciating as the nerve endings relayed the message that they were all that was alive in that tissue. Curse Mordred and his desire to retain power without challenge. Curse this stupid deity for being so meddlesome that the cuff had been necessary in the first place. She’d still enjoy her time here, even with the cuff. She might even get a little fun out of the punishment itself.

Her jaw clenched tight against the pain, she balled the dead hand into a fist and teleported out of the room and into what seemed to be a library. Magically, she surveyed the building and grounds, looking for everyone and everything, getting to know the layout to ensure she didn’t teleport into a table, before she actually reappeared. Once physical again, she locked the door to the study and set up an alarm to inform her when the unwelcome bedmate returned from wherever she had ended up. For now, the Duchess had a bit of reading to do.