A harlequin woman rose from the tangled hedgerow, her introductory speech almost mocking in its tone. Her circling is a clear assessment, and an obvious attempt at a show of power. I feel a faint smile toy with my lips, amused by her. It is just as easy to observe from a stationary position. As her pacing takes her full circle, I rest back on my heels, the picture of nonchalance.
With a careless smile I tilt my head to the side, the crystal of my eyes meeting the discordant hues of her own. "Sabra. Once-queen of Sylva, now queen of my own fate. And what would a fetching creature such as yourself be called...?" Other than trying too hard, that is. There is a scent about her, the musk of recent contact with a male, and the beginning notes of the results of such a contact. That, coupled with the proud way she carried herself, hints at the possible nature of her consort. Mating with a king, how clever of her.
The truth of this other woman's condition betrays the truth of my own. I had suspected it, of course. How could I not? The signs were there, and I had chosen to ignore them. It had been a late season coupling, and I couldn't resist his passion, even if I had wanted to. In the back of my mind, I had known. Castile had successfully planted his seed within me, and now I carried his offspring. The implications of this were perhaps responsible for my ignorance of the situation in the first place. What are the odds, I have to wonder. What is the probability that the beast that plagues him so managed to leave it's mark on the growing life within my womb?
This is a worry for the future. Now I am rather more interested in the roaned creature before me. My luck with members of my own sex has historically been... well, dismal. Besides, it's not friends I came here to make. An ally was another story.
SABRA
I'm Hell on Heels, Say What You Will
@[Despayr]