It galls her just a little to realise she does feel a little less savage. Sure, it's still there in her; the hot spark of her anger and her indignation, of her desire for revenge. It has softened though, it's edges now marginally dulled, even if all this really affords her is more space to perceive her multitude of aches and the nasty smell of her own skin. The hunger that continues to gnaw at her despite what she’s been given.
It also allows space for exhaustion to weigh heavy on her though, perhaps exacerbated by whatever had been in the tea; not poison, and not drugs, but something mildly soporific. Whether the sweetness or the brandy or her own body's long-awaited satiation, it's hard to say. Besides, Queen Bitch is talking again, and – reluctantly – she’s listening.
All throughout the short stretch of her life she's scrabbled and clawed and fought for scraps of recognition. For the meanest slivers of evidence that the kingdom to which she had been indentured could see that she was worth something. She'd hated that cold, near-derelict place right down to her very bones, but hammered just as deep was the desperate drive to be wanted, even if just a little bit. It instils mixed feelings in her now to finally receive those scraps-- but from some enemy territory. Her gold eyes flick upwards to alight on Lenore's face, and she's too close to the edge of herself to remember to be guarded. There's distrust in her expression, and anger, and a sparking kind of bitterness. But there's confusion too. Perhaps the barest flicker of interest.
"Well obviously I'm a fucking asset," her voice comes worn and weary now, but hasn't quite lost its bite, "but why would I wanna be your asset when you just fucked up my people?"
no subject
It also allows space for exhaustion to weigh heavy on her though, perhaps exacerbated by whatever had been in the tea; not poison, and not drugs, but something mildly soporific. Whether the sweetness or the brandy or her own body's long-awaited satiation, it's hard to say. Besides, Queen Bitch is talking again, and – reluctantly – she’s listening.
All throughout the short stretch of her life she's scrabbled and clawed and fought for scraps of recognition. For the meanest slivers of evidence that the kingdom to which she had been indentured could see that she was worth something. She'd hated that cold, near-derelict place right down to her very bones, but hammered just as deep was the desperate drive to be wanted, even if just a little bit. It instils mixed feelings in her now to finally receive those scraps-- but from some enemy territory. Her gold eyes flick upwards to alight on Lenore's face, and she's too close to the edge of herself to remember to be guarded. There's distrust in her expression, and anger, and a sparking kind of bitterness. But there's confusion too. Perhaps the barest flicker of interest.
"Well obviously I'm a fucking asset," her voice comes worn and weary now, but hasn't quite lost its bite, "but why would I wanna be your asset when you just fucked up my people?"