"Sort of like the entirety of you..."

Was this a joke, a faux-pas, a jest indisputably to salve a sagacity of vengeance against the sins she committed? Or an outrageous debauchery, a slandered dalliance, or a gaping spiritual wound she dehisced to bleed before the once lost, but now found Ruron? Were the Gods arranging a penance to impose upon her fortified will of forgetfulness?

The cleric was surprised by the attempt of the tomb to bewilder her and the warped subconscious buried beneath the tendrils of shadows, under her bloodied breastplate and within the coffin of her heart.

But this could not be a mere illusion, as the conversational hallucination seemingly interacted with all.

Wick proffered a jeer of her lip, an uncharacteristic cocked hip, and a soft clack of mental departure; for there was no way in this world’s seven abysses, where she was going to simply subjugate herself to this prodigy’s defiant smugness.

With her golden locks, a carefully and intensely disarrayed style of long tresses spilled around her thin shoulders, for the first time again in a long time. Her joyful eyes a dark and swirling mess of carved pumpkins, enjoying the very presence of the man of careful grooming, gleaming a rioted perfection, to the expense of his tunic, to the cherry of his lips, down to the fabricated style of the scimitar. He even walked with a show of grace, his saunter a rolling expedience whilst appearing crude in the brisk exiting from the central cue.

The warlock didn’t make it far though, as floundering words drowned her confused posture.

[color=ec008c]“About time? Reason you’re here?? Light in the Darkness??? Entirety????”[/color] Her vernacular sunk deeper into a grotesque mark, delivering the abrasive message, as she bore emotions of betrayal and duplicity.

[color=ec008c]“Where the hell have you been? And... Who the devil is he?”[/color]