"... and yet you fail me time and time again?" Risque's voice matches those sensual liquescent movements, sinuous and alluring. The woman would never be able to pass for human, even if she desired to. The old ones never could. In these very moments, burdened with that unspoken betrayal Tetradore appeared so defeated, as though he were finally conquered. It was exactly where she had wanted him, weak and defeated. She could practically taste his delectable agony upon her tongue, nothing was sweeter than the candy of Tetradore suffering. How many broken ribs had he been left to heal now? How she hoped Darcy took his time in breaking every one of those ribs beneath his very flesh. Tetradore's torture seemed to pique her devilish excitement as she took each hungry step toward her pet. "I wonder how many times it will take for it to finally sink in, right into that thick skull of yours." She utters almost softly, her voice a haunting deadly melody. She ran a hand through his tousled locks before jerking his head up to make him look at her. She wanted to see that fading spirit flickering, wanted to savor it. She allows her cold fingertips reach for where her mark was placed upon his neck, it had healed, entirely. That very notice made a venomous snarl rip from her ruby red lips. How did he heal? He was so pitifully weak, it should have taken at least a week to heal from those inflicted wounds. She had expected a scar to mar his flesh but to find it pristine was nothing short of insulting. How she would need to remedy this travesty.

"Where oh where did my mark go little pet?" She cooed, those very words seem sweet and yet they are infused with much malice and lack of empathy for all the man had endured. She would push, bend and break him anyway she pleased, rip the very world apart as she would deem fit. Maybe she had taken it far too easy on him the last time? If his flesh refused to obey her, she would torture his weary mind until the last frayed strings of sanity cling to him.

Apathy rolls off of Tetradore in waves, his decent to hell tonight would be a far easier feat than she had hoped. The more he attempted to be impervious, the more it was seem that he was trying to hide, hide from the very devil herself. Everyone knows you cannot hide from the devil that you know. "Oh, but you will be, mon chat." How she could have practically sung those ominous words, her pale hypnotizing eyes draw so close to him then. She could see the dried sweat upon his brow, every spec of blood and dust that spattered upon his face that remained of his little joyride. That languid grin spreads across her fangs as they peaked through her parted lips in that sickly satisfied fashion. With Tetradore she knew it was only a matter of time. Risque had a lot of time to ponder this spectacular little show thought up just for him, perfectly contrived for that maximum impact she was intending to achieve. How she would enjoy watching that resolve crumble into ash as that recognition of who she possibly possessed within her grip to use against him.

Even weak and pitiful he possesses such impressive resolve, even while weary from his little jaunt away from her he attempts to hold his head high. As if he was testing his very footings against her, to see what he could get away with. His words slipped from his mouth. "You know better than to talk to me like that." Her hand shoots up, the movement is predatory and lightning fast as she grabs him by the jaw so she could lift his head to face her. "Ask me again." She would enjoy too much when he asked her for his douse of personal torment. She waits expectantly.. "Well?" Her manicured brow shoots up, impatient with her petulant feline tonight. He had done more than enough. Of course, she should be thanking him, for testing out her newest recruits, but that was beside the point.

"I am truly in no rush.." She lets him go suddenly, hinting to the very fact she was going to enjoy every last morsel of time with him tonight. She had ways to keep a man awake and vibrant, no matter how tired he was from the past days trials. She knew how to have him screaming should she want to procure such a delightful sound from him.

Risque wanted to see the plague of injury upon his skin that her tousled haired kitty king now wore so proudly. The more he wanted to fight her, the more eager she became. That pain and bruises which littered his chest was beautiful, she could tell it was like a canvas of artwork on Tetradore's hardened frame, fashioned from decades of discipline and use. It was impressive, truly. But still, the devil woman's power shoots out like tendrils of fury, slashing and hungry, using it as a reminder that he would forever be her slave. These chains that bound them could not be shattered no matter how much he willed it so with that steely resolve of his.

He moves like he is in autopilot, relishing in his slow wounded gait. It nearly makes her heart beat. She almost hissed at him to move faster, but she is ever patient in this little game, knowing that every step toward that wall of violence was like its own brand of torture. There is a wicked gleam shining in those pale apathetic eyes, her tongue slide along her bottom lip to rest in that very crevice as if tasting his impending suffering, savoring it. His fate was her own making in this very moment and she is near gleeful, sickly so. How could such a being thrive off of some else's torment was surely depraved like the demons below. Some would even argue she was the devil herself, or perhaps fashioned by their very paintbrush. "Look alive my little mouse.." She know he would hate being called a mouse when he was in fact a king! Her mockery amuses her endlessly.

She is upon her panther so fast that it was like she nearly teleported there in front of him, her movements serpentine as she allows her icy hands to run along his skin. She is far from gentle in her exploration. "Not even a painter could capture these glorious shades." She hummed in sick satisfaction to herself, in admiration. She presses against the skin over his ribs that were broken, pressing them as if they would play a note of pain. Oh Tetradore will you be my musical instrument? She wonders to herself, pressing every single rib to see what notes he would sing. But this was but an appetizer to the main course she had planned. But she savors it all the same.

Suddenly she breaks away from her cherished cat, bored with him for now.

"Bring in the leopard.." Who she was talking to, it was hard to tell, but she knew she would be heard all the same while her power to control felines and that torment ability swirled together in an impressive display. Soon after, the door merely opened, bringing in the unmoving form of what seemed to be Tobias. Seemed was the key word. As her abilities swirled about that obliviously, willing him to see the body of his dead friend and not the body of that cowering snow leopard that failed her so. That power that alters the senses cloak her form, painting it in that familiar tawny soft fur with black russets decorating his luxurious coat.. His inner most torment, she could see it like it were actually happening... "Here." She snaps her fingers pointing onto a bare place on the floor before her, she direct one of her many henchmen.

Risque dismisses him with an idle wave of her hand. Eyes practically urging the helpful man to leave without snapping at him, she was eager for her fun tonight. "I wanted to show you what we picked up along the way.." How she influenced him, her power delicately descending upon that room like a smothering blanket. She knew his mind would work against him to make the perfect illusion of his dearest friend that Tetradore so desperately wanted to remain safe, from her. Well, from appearances and sense alone, he was not in fact safe. What did that mean to him? "He is alive." She replied in that dripping nonchalantly, without a care in the world. Letting it sink in, the possibilities of the hell she intended to inflict upon him.

Risque

just face the moon and put your death mask on