Shaidra glared at him. [color=black]"They'll cling to those emotions like lost little children until the very end,"[/color] She barked, becoming more vicious in her speech, [color=black]"They'll claw and scratch at an inevitable wave of death and turmoil without looking back, just like the rest. They'll beckon for your kindness and understanding, again and again and again. They'll tell you to smile. But you won't, not until you understand why."[/color] Her mouth curved upwards, into a subtle smile that was barely visible through her mask. [color=black]"Until you understand, you will be filled with rage, confusion, hysteria, and turmoil with each happy thought. And you'll lash out at any who guide you towards the despicably poetic. People like those have made an art form of it, they've perfected the practice of ignorance and share it without pause."[/color] Shaidra's hands coated themselves in a black mist that took the shape of claws, three-pronged and shimmering, despite their smokey form. [color=black]"Nhgga... Throats are like little hoses, shrimp... A deathly blow will end it fast..."[/color] The darkened woman back to step around the pews, towards Bruce, with her back arched. She fell onto all fours, and crawled around the edge of the bench, digging into the floor with her claws. The wood turned black like soot and rotted away frightfully fast as she crept towards Bruce. Whatever attempts he'd made to get through to her had backfired, and she was on the prowl.