you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared

The assassin had every intention of keeping a level head, even when she first noted Tetradore leaning against that ridiculous car. Honestly, she might have been impressed with herself that she lasted as long as she did, though being impressed was the farthest thing from her mind at the moment. She hardly expected her comment about weeks before to be acted upon, she merely wanted to get under his skin. Clearly, she had picked a good day to do it, or at the very least, she knew what pissed him off now. However, he seemed to know just where to hit her the hardest. His reply has her flinching at him briefly before a cold rage boils up inside of her. Her face a mask of anger.

She might have responded with an equally low blow but he turns on a heel and prowls away from her. Instead, she feels ice coating her veins, her blood, and she falls into that pit of her magic, her blue eyes like a living flame as she glowers after him. Still, she grasps the crate that's shoved into her hands, barely catching it before it falls, and she places it on the ground. How she wanted to scream and rage at him, explain to him that her promises were not idle. And it was in that moment that she vowed she would not explain herself to him, she wouldn't tell him a damn thing about her bond with Ivan, she wouldn't tell him just exactly Ivan was capable of. No; whatever she had seen in him before was swept away in the awake of his next words.

The way his voice raises at her after she threw that shoe, the look of pure anger simmering in Tetradore's eyes, she desperately wanted to meet him toe for toe, to insult his pride. Yet, all she could hear was him tearing her apart. The longer he went on, the more that deadness entered her eyes, filling her from the inside out. And wasn't it true? She was nothing more than a child, throwing a temper tantrum because he didn't like that she was simply doing her job. Even when he explains about his pack members, Vhalla has entirely no feeling left within her, she was simply lifeless within her emotions. Stepping away from him, she doesn't make a comment, let along look at the Were King before she's picking up her boot and slipping it back on her foot silently, careful to step around the puddles of blood.

Her features are dull, unresponsive, that inner light that so shone through her even on her darkest days, simply snuffed out at Tetradore's words. Slowly, moving away from the man, she picks up the crate he roughly shoved in her hands earlier, and balances it on one hip. Still, she refuses to meet his gaze, even when she's turning to face the bodies across the ground. Holding out her other hand, she summons that magic that makes up her essence, makes Vhalla, Vhal, and simply sets the bodies on fire. She notes somewhere in the back of her mind that controlling her magic is far easier when there was nothing to feel.

The heat is so intense within the warehouse that the blood upon the cement is boiling, burning away so there's not a trace. Yet, the heat hardly bothers her as she continues to feed the flames, her deadened eyes fixed upon the bodies within the fire. It takes only but a few minutes before the bodies are falling apart, even the bones are crumbling to ash, only when there is nothing left but scorch marks upon the floor does she stop, her lifeless eyes fixing on Tetradore briefly. "I will have someone come take care of the car." She states emotionlessly, before she too pivots on her heel and walks to the exit, crate in hand. Just before she reaches the door, she yanks on that other line of magic, wrapping herself in shadow before she teleports herself. It was still such a bizarre feeling that when she stumbles just inside her own warehouse door, there's a bit of surprise that flicks somewhere within her. Yet, there wasn't enough for her to act on it, instead, she sets the crate of skulls down and climbs up the stairs. Entering her apartment, she's immediately stripping her various weapons from her along with her suit and she's entirely naked before she reaches the bathroom.

She doesn't even turn on the water before she sits down within that freezing tub, knees drawn to her chin as she stares at the facet.

Vhalla Solarn

To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered