Isolt's desperate screams are like a wonderous symphony to the ears of the devil woman, such fear wrought upon the beautiful redheaded that was Isolt. It could have been a painting, the crimson haired woman writhing on the floor, pretty as a freshly plucked carnation. The blue-black haired temptress relished in that intoxicating perfume, drawing in full breath to savor it. It was not the first time she had heard those delectable screams from her lips and certainly it would not be the last. Not so long as they both shared an existence on this earth. She was hers.

The vain creature that was Risque kept those closest to her, only the prettiest of specimens, a collection of pretty she had broken and stitched together into such warped assortment. Isolt would be apart of her personal magnum opus she could peer upon when she desired, her use, well that would only reveal itself in time. In time she would truly bloom into that flower of death she had stemmed from. Time always had a way of cultivating things as they should.

Risque took pleasure in her suffering, crumpled form upon that worn wooden floor like a writhing flopping fish. However, it seemed so entirely fleeting, too fleeting. She could have relished to those cries until sun up and then some the following night. It was when they ceased that Risque took a step closer, upon her once writhing, pitiful form. That was when those shrill screams had transformed into a booming sound of lunatic laughter. It was shrill and entirely unlike the crimson crowned progeny, the way she pulled herself off the ground, was perhaps even unsettling. Had she finally broke from Tetradore's spell? Her head snapped to the side, peering at Tetradore with a look to see if maybe he was behind this. Or maybe Tetradore was simply not strong enough? The thought only infuriated the blue-black haired femme fatale, her pale, vicious eyes narrowed in resolute displeasure. She was only getting started and she had hardly taken her fill.

Had Tetradore truly become so weak in that time apart? How utterly disappointing, her lips curl in that threatening manner displaying those ominous sharpened points of deadly bone white fangs. She would need to harden him again, need to reform her little kitty cat, why not start now? A sadistic thought bloomed within that twisted dark mind that was Risque. The more Tetra'doll' hurt the ones he loved, she was sure he would learn once and for all, learn that no one was safe from him. From his mistress of death and doom.

Tetradoll would be his name until he returned to his former glory at her side. Why must she have to do everything herself?

How her deluded panther liked to imagine he was protecting those around him but to know it was, in fact, the opposite he seemed so very slow at catching onto. How soon would that realization finally click, finally make him crumble so that she could fashion those pieces of him how she pleased. There was not a single person Tetradore could protect in this world, not a single person that could be free from her violence or his own. Little did he know he would be her trusted violent machine once more even through all that pigheaded defiance.

Just how long did it take to watch hope leave a man's eyes? Just how long did it take to make someone's relationships to disintegrate into pulverized dust? Well, that was something she could look forward to finding out. The devil woman gave him such freedom, to draw those close to him those magnets in the dark drawn to his safety, only to have him lose it all. It would all start now.

Isolt moved with blinding speed, launching for her maker with the spark of sweet lunacy in her eye. She would not soon forget that distorted look upon that innocent face. A maddening glee overtook her in a peculiar way she had only seen once she had truly broken one's mind beyond repair. Isolt's fist at the ready to meet Risque's mouth, it came into contact. Even as she moved, taking a sudden but swift step to the side to try and take less of that brunt vampiric force. A loud, sickening sharp thudding sound flooded her ears, as the taste of her own necrotic blood flooded with her mouth. A vicious snarl escapes her before she spits that mouthful of blood onto the ground just before Isolt's feet, unimpressed and yet hardly shaken. Those goading words of Isolt drop seamlessly from her just then. Bringing hand to her jaw, her thumb trailing across her now bloodied lips, licking it off. Isolt wanted to play, did she? How terribly cute, how she grew some tiny claws.

She began her circling, eyeing Isolt like she were nothing but a child throwing a temper tantrum.

"He is my hand, Isolt." She nearly purred that sadistic poison honey, despite the pain throbbing from her fractured jaw. She knew real pain, craved it, needed it, this was nothing but a tickle in comparison to the pain she inflicts, the pain she yearns for. Isolt may be strong, but she was not the woman Risque was. "Any action he does, everything he is.. Is because of me. You are an imbecile to think he could be anything else. It is time you let go of your childish dreams.... Mm, right. Izzy?" She takes her time, toying with her before striking. Harley's nickname for Isolt fell like a death sentence from her crimson blood lips.

She hardly betrayed to how she knew such a name, her eyes unreadable, merely let that unspoken threat hang precariously in the air. She reaches for that whip attached to her side as she prowls around Isolt in that deadly sensuous ballet, her piercing gaze watches her crimson-haired progeny with a wicked gleam. "Such a ragtag little scrapper, I should pay her a visit and show her what you did to me. What's her name again, Haily? Hariot? Harlot." Risques words are spoken with nonchalance and yet the threat was potent. And by showing her, it was an actual demonstration. Human's were hardly durable little things, the wrong punch would send their necks snapping, a malevolent quirk of her lips. She positioned herself so Isolt needed to follow her or risk putting her back to the devil.

With precision Risque snaps her silver whip with a dexterous flick of her wrist, once more she sends out that whip to ensnare Isolt's slender neck, all whilst summoning her Tetradore to pounce. Toying with those strings of her feline power. Her feline would strike in an ambush of teeth and claw, knowing fully well that saliva would certainly mar that once satin unblemished skin. Isolt was not done suffering this night, in fact, she barely just begun.

How she fully intended to pluck those petals from her precious carnation, just because she could and for the reason that no matter how much Isolt denied it, the crimson flower belonged to her maker.

Risque

just face the moon and put your death mask on