>>6301573"We were meant to meet at the Guignol," Isomer says, in a voice like the clattering of wing-cases. “-But I <span class="mu-i">had</span> to see for myself, <span class="mu-i">first</span>.”
She reaches out, with a flayed hand. The motion is graceful, courtly even, like a dancer's arc. There are too many joints to her clawed fingers, elegant in their impossibility.
The talons at their ends do not end at all. They narrow and narrow, finer than needles, finer than hair, tapering into a vanishing point that seems to stretch forever.
When she moves them, the air keens as if cut.
“The face of the one who sacrificed <span class="mu-i">everything</span> for love.”
This seems inordinately amusing to her, and Isomer titters to herself - briefly - in that voice that is all voices and none at once. Her head tilts, moth-antennae quivering, as if savoring the irony in the very scent of you.
“How grand - How <span class="mu-i">intoxicating</span>, even. Oh, Utopia would never understand...But I do. <span class="mu-i">I do</span>.”
<span class="mu-i">Utopia Ruler.</span> She knows Utopia Ruler.
Her talons interlace, claw scraping against claw, the sound drawn out into a high, keening note that lingers for far longer than it should.
And as it hangs there, you feel it: You're being watched.
Someone else is out there. Velvet Isomer didn't do this - not alone, at least.
"Tell me-" Her voice drops now, thick and close. More intimate.
"...was it <span class="mu-i">worth</span> it? Does she mean <span class="mu-i">that</span> much to you? I <span class="mu-i">must</span> know."
Velvet Isomer's moth-wings stir. They tremble in subtle pulses, powdery surfaces rasping against one another. Each beat breathes a sound not unlike the hiss of silk tearing, not unlike the whisper of dry leaves crushed beneath unseen feet.
The cadence is an actively disquieting one: A rhythm of anticipation, or perhaps hunger.
>[ ] FreeHP: 110.0%
AURIC SHROUD: 100%
METER: 0%
SHACKLE ENABLED
YOU HAVE CONTROL
