On the qui vive, her instinctive inclination apposite to being exceedingly cautious around entities that perplex even her kicks in, roaring brought down to faint sibilating, self-assertive stance relaxing but this is by no means an indication of her subservience, nay, she remains curmudgeonly, loathe to acquiesce to this woman’s malignity, her degrading—albeit infernally eldritch—chortling ( oh how it turns stellar ichor into frothing conjury vicious in its pursuit to explode from magically-constructed skin ), inhaling sharply through her nose as if it causes her agony to stay within this shrew’s presence for a millisecond longer than what she can withstand; still and all, the femme fatale cannot allow such preternatural diablerie to run rampant amongst the ordinary bereft of rhyme or reason and is aware of the catastrophe this subsistence could inflict upon the masses should she herself be pushed to far, if the blatant goading of Kohana’s own malefic abilities is anything to go by which both bristles and tempts her into releasing a cataclysmic storm only matched by her tumultuous wrath, if only to see how this woman fares against APOCALYPTIC HELLFIRES scourging the earth wrought from ÆTHER SPACE and pulled out of the celestial sphere by nothing but the Summoner of Time’s thoughts through dint of her parapsychological connection with the cosmos.
Nescient is this she-anathema, far too la-di-da to comprehend that these dahlia embers are decimals to the true wildfires ( eye-incinerating, white-hot devastating ) she is crafted from, the clout of her conflagrations determined—uniquely—by colour, red being the lowest of intensities, incidentally; she retains the vaporizing heat of supernovae going into supernovae, of hypernovæ squared, stellular cataclysms without limit in the peak of their prime, collapsars scintillating with ire indescribable, unexplainable, she is a phenomenon that the universe cannot fathom.
Wearing this disguise of fæ flesh impeccable and faultless whilst retaining her humanity, suns balk when met with her effulgence, shirk and shy away, she bequeaths them with warmth, rubs honey into the night’s back, makes sure the moon is fed, bathes the ocean and warm sings the trees.
Admittedly a bit perturbed by the discovery of a supermundane presence sauntering upon the Earth ( as there is no denying the supranormal ambience to this abomination, how disconcerting it is, the electrical noise exuding from its presence, unwonted and inducing a sense of nausea all at once through its infuriatingly hoity-toity pretension ), Kohana perpetuates her heinous displeasure, liquid venin stare scathing and giving knee-jerk jeers that otherwise refuse to come up from her throat for the eudæmonia of the spectators realizing that this is no ordinary run in betwixt two strangers, perchance athirst to see a physical confrontation break out or perhaps it goes further than that, perhaps observers have gotten glances at the manic fires Kohana has burst into, or the chthonian chords warped and distorted from this vermillion-lipped harpy; mayhaps they sense the abnormal effluvium wafting within the ocean of emptiness that sits amidst and around the two contemptuous woman and are being crushed by feelings of dread or trepidation. It is by being savvy of others from her experience as a war general that she ceases her overt aggression, putting the comfort of the general public first and allowing her philanthropy to have the leading edge, a look of cessation glinting within pools of absinthe, arms slowly falling straight against her flanks, positure straightening, perilous stiletto heels retaining appropriate leverage against the concrete, equilibrium that suggests her dedition, howbeit still stormy, clearly affronted by the assumptions that have been spoken, still huffy, still brimming with fiery nerve.
❝Cute.❞ Ersatz laudation falls smoothly from her mouth, murmuring belittling red wine ( cheeky merlot ) cœvally to clicking her tongue against the ceiling of her palate, sparing a wry smile of quasi appreciation.
❝What do you want?❞ Not a query but a demand, Asiatic inflection tuneless as if vocalizing sulphuric acid, far too sagacious in germane to these happenings to brush this meeting off as a simple faux pas, astute in the very modus operandi of the perennial—and she had better be deathless, cœrcing Kohana into giving her all she’s got as far as unhinged cruelty goes. ❝Self-proclaimed prodigy?❞ A snort skewers through her derisive restating of the other’s preposterous claims; looks like someone hadn’t done their homework thoroughly enough, although this does—at the very least—support the other’s statement about not being human, which Kohana notices without fail. ❝Hardly.❞ Scoffing, she exhales through her nose again, pressing the knuckles of her right hand against her cheek, gazing down at the other from the bottom of chartreuse pools, suggesting the inferiority the other holds, she herself remaining incredibly dictatorial. ❝Whose nose did you pick that out of? Ta, that’s not something I part with when meeting people—or should I say meeting hags like you. Or perhaps you’re a thing,❞ she sneers, animated in her incivility, bringing her right hand against the air in a gesticulation full of inquest, come-hither tiers pursing in tandem to her left hand returning to arousingly-wide hips, ❝who has nothing better to do than bump into people of greater importance and status. Differentiate between fiction and reality yourself, pull your head out of your lopsided ass; the universe doesn’t exist inside of it and the planets still don’t revolve around you. Out here, there are rules and stark consequences. Universal law upheld by yours truly. Newsflash, walking around and being a festering bag of fœtid maggots isn’t exactly having a purpose, nor a reason to exist. Crawl back to whatever garbage disposal you hopped out of, the human race has no need for the embodiment of feculence having taken a human form.❞
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she continues her chastising; in any graceful game of wits, she is cognizant that she only needs to respond to what matters. Not every subpar insult needs to be acknowledged, especially if it’s not true.
❝My society? You should thank my society. As it stands, ❛my society❜ is the only reason I haven’t smeared your body against the asphalt, and it will be my society that spurs me into eating cereal out of your skull if you threaten them in any way, shape or form. Any society. I don’t care what you are. I’ll only tell you this once.❞
Oh, oh, oh, she's so very tempted to TEAR through her human form and become the INCOMPREHENSIBLE DESTRUCTION she truly is, the seductive whispers of a transformation into alien geometries burns in her stomach; it takes all of her self restraint to refrain from damning herself ( after all, the icons of literature -- the archetypes of reality -- have their restrictions, to reveal a true form with bystanders is something taboo, something blasphemous ). SHE IS ICONIC; ARCHETYPAL AND SUPREME, and she is the underlying theme of trillions of life forces. She is more than that, she is the BASIS of societies, of governments, of EMPIRES and of TYRANNIES. this burning child stands as MOCKERY before her; yet, what can this GLORIOUS EMPRESS do but humbly receive such hilarious misunderstanding?
A smile, a deliciously red smile SMEARS upon her features, and her jaw parts into shreds of UNREALITY, though such a partial slip remains fleeting -- and as darkened wisps upon her skin weave and ravel back into flesh, the infuriating nonchalance she's practiced so well RETURNS onto once angered features. THE MONSTER becomes the woman, the woman becomes the MOTHER; she becomes chastising, pleasantly familiar, what a wondrous waste of space. SHE PITIES the mortals so UNFORTUNATE ( FORTUNATE ) to be GRACED by this. one can taste her disgust, one can taste this corrupt queen's ideals; she LAUGHS a chorus of laughter, in endless echoechoeCH o oo o o. ( YOU HAVE ENTERED AN ORCHESTRAL HALL OF CHOIRS, screaming and SCREECHING the same thing ).
" Higher status, you claim? WHY, i've never met ANYONE with such AUDACITY and SELF GLORIFICATION ; at least understand your conversationalist before such offensive derision. Such is a habit I've YET to acquire, but if you ARE of higher status, WOULD YOU NOT HAVE SUCH already? Though I hate to break it to you, my darling, but you and i do not BEGIN to fall onto the same plane of laws and rules and universal codes. sadly to say, I'VE MET the embodiment of FECULENCE, -- wasn't very pleasant, as expected. though i'd have to say... IT WAS MUCH BETTER than this one is going. "
She offers MALICIOUS LAUGHTER, CORROSIVE SMILES, DERISIVE GAZE. her words are daggers and bullets prepared, and she's yet to unleash her skill. but of course, it isn't necessary. she'll have her fun with this undoubtedly POWERFUL entity, and then she'll forget of her.
" They were much more -- appreciative, one could say. OR PERHAPS, aware of their status? of their situation and status. WHICH, neither of us are; rather disappointing, isn't this? "
And she can only sigh in EXASPERATION, she knows little of this STRANGER'S society, but she's quite POSITIVE there's no necessity of her THANKS. how could this CHILD threaten her, threaten her from MAINTAINING the balance? it is not THE RUTHLESS TYRANT that wrecks worlds, it is their INHABITANTS that allow her MANIFESTATION through their own INCOMPETENCE. one cannot blame the MESSENGER, the GENE apparent, for its HOST'S misdeeds.
" I should thank your society -- for CONTINUING my essence, of course -- your society isn't the ONLY ONE that FUELS my purposes, but it is one of them; after all, a celebrity has to appreciate each one of her FANS, no? perhaps i should bless you with a proper introduction, and then YOU COULD DO THE SAME? " ( HOW MATURE YOU'VE GOTTEN, VERA; IN SUCH SPLIT SECONDS : or is it because you've gotten bored of valid insults and pointless antagonization? ).
" LAWFUL EVIL, iconic in LITERATURE, in existence; in the PATTERNS of WORTHLESS MORTALS and selfish incompetences. though for the sake of human conventions, i tend to go by VERA LAWSON, instead of such a tediously conspicuous name for alignments. i wasn't lying, nor was i bluffing when i announced my integrity with your society, as well as this one and all the others the fluctuate in some plane of BEING. "
a pitying sigh, she WITHDRAWS a few feet away.
" you're a little REACTIVE, but mostly rather boring; I'm sure my worthless brother would APPRECIATE you. perhaps he'll come this way. "
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
germansingergirl
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
