Porcupine Ridge they call holidays an option for a reason,

editing because i didn't see alarian's reply -- sorry!!

there it was, the nuanced blow. caiaphas had always had a way of killing with her tongue -- certainly, the siren had caused more grief with a single word than she ever had inflicted by her fangs.

she did not hide that she had seen that darkened emotion, the brief slip of jaunty composure -- but if she planned to use it against him, she did not immediately indicate so. her falcon-yellow eyes rested upon the proud stag of a male, coming to rest along the ugly scar that traced his throat like a horrendous brand.

another accusation was thrown upon her; babykiller. it had no savory ring to it, but caiaphas wore the kenning proudly just the same. it was her title to brandish, her honorific imposed; if her life's events lead up to that moniker, at least it was done so in the name of her family.

she shrugged. "babies grow to become killers." not a moment hence had caiaphas spent, pining the loss of the babe she had allegedly killed. she hoped that fucker hurt -- she hoped valette looked upon her dead cub's face, saw nothing but lifelessness pool within those innocent yet pained baby-blues, and knew every form of inhumane torment and grief there was --

and it would still never be enough.

it would not bring back kierkegaard. it would not return rhakios to her side. nor would it change ephraim, and the harrowing course his life had taken away from her.

it would change nothing, but caiaphas knew how cruelly the loss of a child sorrowed a mother..

and that was almost just enough.

"i kill for my family. something makes me believe you would -- or have -- done the same." it was a simple kind of dogma, and caiaphas followed it unerringly.

in the back of her mind, the siren queen wondered how long this dialogue would take. how long before vercingetorix advanced more than just pointed words towards her? how long, until she disunited the smug bastard's larynx from his throat, silenced that endless and insufferable clap, and then closed her own hawkbit eyes forever?

shifting her weight and lifting her chin (ignoring too, the pronounced difference in height between them) caiaphas spoke lowly yet evenly. "if you are going to kill me, get on with it.. i have friends i look forward to seeing on the other side."

no sooner had she spoken, a sound of pines and twigs snapped underfoot. caiaphas registered the interruption with a flick of her torn ear, but was loathe to remove her gaze from vercingetorix. in that moment, the tension seemed nearly unbreakable -- and for some strange reason caiaphas felt as long as she was holding the dragedan within her sights, he would not easily overcome her.

the scent that pervaded the still air was one only faintly recognizable; after several seconds, caiaphas realized it was the male that had accompanied rusalka not so long ago. now, the tables seemed turned -- or at least, she was not guaranteed death tonight. it did not make her any less alert, for caiaphas believed any moment some catastrophic event might happen and flip the balance wildly. luck often despised giving her much of a break.. yet here it was, incredibly -- arriving at an hour most dire . "what a reunion." the sylph quipped, still focusing her lambent gaze on vercingetorix. "allow me to introduce you to vercingetorix.. the man that kindly gave me all my scars."