ASSEMBLAGE. – [ Open ]

[Xanthe Ezriska]

A chittering hiss erupted from behind the formidable set of mandibles that the creature upon the Empress' hand boasted, and it's eight legs shifted to reposition the small beast better against Xanthe's seemingly delicate fingertips. The demoness stroked it lovingly, cooing in a way she did for nothing but her constantly growing collection of arachnid pets, and seemed not at all phased by the fact that the reason she was sitting in her throne at all – the person, rather – was late. Then again, she very rarely seemed irritated over the time of things, as if she were blissfully unaware of the concept most of the time.

.. A frightening believable prospect, really, when one considered just how the demoness looked. Not a day older in physical appearance than she had been so many years ago, and no better healed of her vicious scarring and charred flesh, the only real differences she could boast as far as tangible changes went was her choice of clothing – today's decided raiment consisting of another one of her mistailored dresses, made of fine navy silks with black embroideries, detailing, and laces – her custom made and fitted crown, and bizarrely, even for this present day, the fact that her hair was held up in an uncharacteristically intricate design, complete with black and blue diamond encrusted pins that were formed in the shape of snakes. Strikingly unlovely, commanding, and yet playful in a way that would force the unwitted bystander to claim her as innocent and naive, Empress Ezriska was known for her strange sense of physical allure if only because it was strange, and the way that the most insidious men of the Ardentia Empire would claim her as beautiful when she was ordering for vicious tactics and acts that were claimed to be capable of even making the once Lord Thorown cringe.

"Where, where, where," she whispered finally to her thickly haired companion, which continued to chitter as if in some bizarre comparison to a feline's delighted purr. Her thin lips were tugged into a grin as she lowered her hand, and subsequently the massive tarantula, from her face to allow herself to glance over her emptied marble court. "Where could he be, my love?"

There were no guards in that hall, in spite of what other leaders might have demanded, especially in a time where they were either regarded as a savior or hated viciously to the point of a fair share of assassination attempts thus far. The only window of the great throne room was dark and allowed little light in in spite of it's size, proving itself as a feat of engineering – or magic – that better showed just how this Palace had been built specifically for the current ruler. Giant, burning braziers were lit at each corner, and the path that would lead up to the dangerous looking and obviously custom made throne of serpents and arachnids alike was shown only as a walkway through a slightly lighter marble than the rest of the obsidian room. Each step would be marked by rune symbols that were, as so many things that involved the Empress, typically regarded as illegible, and unknown in their importance save for the fact that they were of importance. Or, at least, so it was assumed on the showing that each was lit in a fiery and moving glow, but was not carved, nor giving off any heat or energy.

"A silly beast, Aldrich Boreas, I love him so – You know I do! But I think there are times where I would rip out his eyes and suck the fluids from him if only because he would never scream," she pondered aloud, shifting in her seat to bring up her pale, thin legs and drape them over the armrest. Her slender, androgynous figure settled in and was made comfortable as the tarantula was rested to remain still upon her bare, charred shoulder, and she peered with wanting at the massive, double doors that would be forced upon at some point or another. Her boyish features contorted into a frown at the silent second guessing of her own words, as if she wondered if Aldrich would scream, but never to pain and only to his vanity.

"No, probably not."

[Medea Emeiyenae]

ooc:: setting my darling up for later. No need to reply to this. x3

ic:: Quietly, quietly; they can hear us wandering upon the tips of our feet, slyly and delicately, the secret phantoms of the night! Can you feel it – can you see it? That deliciously explosive ignition of fear within their hearts? Honest individuals deceived by our bloodlust into cowardice as, one by one, fate plucks the jewels in their crowns… Ah. You want to die with them, we forgot it – that strange foolishness that so steps over your boots, taking step by step as it ghosts in beneath your flesh so it might walk so perfectly in time with you. Mm, you have denied yourself the most delectable wine, the taste of heritage, but they know you here – they know you. You can escape nothing, but will you survive?

There was nothing to thrive within that girl when it came to voices of madness but instinct itself was a type of insanity when denied, a lulling hiss that sweetly caressed the ears and was a constant companion on the battlefield. A branding, abominable, destructive stretch of wailing which laughed at her misfortune to suffer it, the compulsions she denied the body and brain she was crafted to hold was often enough to toss her beyond salvage. The weakly-kept vestiges of her bloodline were as far as she could keep them from herself and yet there was always a murmuring stream of words and advice that self-serving vampiric nature offered despite its helpless state of neglect.

Many things could be divined through her sight and many more through her senses. The nobility theorized that battle practices had made the Medea’s eyes sharper, her arm stronger, her steps quicker. The only scent her nose could differentiate from others was that of His Grace’s, and when she smiled her teeth were never shown as threat. Still, the presence of others buzzed at her conscience though she didn’t know why, but it did the same to Hiraos’s now as well; she could hear him think and had learned a great deal from it, but only with him did the attachment hold true. Her presence was swallowed by life in the abilities of others, too weak to catch onto and trace. These were things she counted on now and, as time indulged her escapades, Emeiyenae could only hope that the stealth she inherited was enough – and that she could hear whoever had heard her.

The insidious whirl of magic was a freshening spray from the brand that saturated the foundations of the castle, a hiss of light against the malignant stench of an other-worldly presence. There was a part of the little vampire that decidedly willed to gag on the one thing that was discernable amidst others upon her immature and individually characterized senses. Holding her breath, lips pressed tensely together, the young female’s body maintained the tremulous till of a deer in headlights, irresponsibly seeping from the blackened stones which rippled as though she were merely a ghost fazing through the wall, causing an incandescent shimmer to contour those places where she still emerged from. Punctuating the stiff moments were looks of animated fright as opposed to the paralyzed sort of apprehension that characterized her in recent times. If there could be any place more traumatic to her nerves than this Emieyenae would be amazed; as it was, she felt as though her skin crawled with arachnids beneath the flesh. Hush, her thoughts murmured with finality, loosing the will to continue arguing against the obstinate devotion that made hr so secretly come, and Emeiyenae fought to keep her breath silent.

It had taken a great deal of ‘cutting’ to get that far, the span of several transition periods throughout the folds of close history in order to make a direct entrance in such a place at such a time without being caught at any one occasion. She had not told His Grace about the excursion she planned, thinking it beyond his control and closer to her own will. He would stop her, or come alongside her – but this was her task. Mei had dared a great deal so far with his resignation; the examination of historical war plans that had not yet been enacted, plans and models of archaic and advanced weaponry and the theft of projectiles from ages she would later return them to. Oh yes, she was an active creature – anything to please Hiraos, to make trouble for his enemies. The young godsend had already traveled back eighteen, nineteen years ago, watching the former Duke cradle her younger self as she sobbed after a massacre, letting that mournful period be her last sit-down with him before taking such a dangerous self-arranged mission. It was time to confirm dreams and suspicions.

The transgressors were there – the lawbreakers, she was sure of it. Something was wrong, and she was old enough, coherent enough, to catch its scent. All she had to do was learn what she could from this time and place and remain unseen – and she wouldn’t even have to approach the throne room of Empress Ezriska, that horribly hazy figure that terrified the girl who had never seen her on nothing more than a violent instinct against the name.

Scurry and hide, little mouse. The cats are coming.

This one time, she could listen to the little hum inside her head that tried with great trepidation to guide her.