Moonspear they want the old kanye

Though her heart ached, though she mourned and felt sadness, her cold and calculating fury had dug its roots into her stomach and its thick stalk had pierced her heart. Hatred within nourished it. She felt Alya there, and soon Lyra—the sound emitted from the former caused the poisonous thing within to bloom, and she choked out the words with terrible composure. They will pay, Hydra breathed. The chinks in her armor they had left in their wake had been replaced with sharp barbs; in looking at the faces of both her sisters, she was composed. I do not care how long it takes. Perhaps I will let them forget our faces first, she entertained, looking from one face to the other.

The only thing that settled her now were them, Alya and Lyra, and their like-minds. She would trust no other as she did them as long as she lived. 

Hydra turned within the water so as to face them. Hydra would ensure her hurt was not for naught. She would bring Rannoch and Liffey to their knees for this. but I will not forget how they betrayed our friendship and kindness. They had, after all, decided to let Liffey have her breathing space here. They should have chucked her off the mountain after all, it seemed. And Rannoch, her witless husband. What a moron. She pictured them finding her sisters killer out in the wilds and befriending him. It sickened her—they sickened her. Loathsome, self-serving liars. 

No, Hydra would never forget. The pain she had felt was palpable, a hurt she had not felt and a hurt she should never like to feel again. She hadn't any idea how, yet, but Hydra was a firm believer in karma. Things would work themselves out, and the answers would fall into their lap as they often did.