Bella is lounging. 

She stretches across her throne with the lazy disinterest of a predator who's already eaten her fill. Only the flicking of her tail and the sharp smile inching across her face betray the true intensity of her interest as she alternates between sipping her wine and brushing her thumb across the surface of the cracked stem. 

There's so much pleasure in the feeling of broken things. The slick smoothness of the glass gives way to veins of jagged splits that grind against her skin like a rough pebble she might have plucked out of the gardens. Up and down, up and down, tracing the lines where this perfectly crafted and beautiful piece of a fallen empire turned to ruin in her hands. Up and down, up and down. It bites at her skin, it excites her blood, and scratches an itch she only feels inside her heart. Better than a vibrator, ha! Better than the wine. She takes another sip and swishes it in her mouth before adjusting her weight.

An Empress would have stood up by now. Her Imperial Highness would have strewn from her box and leapt into the stadium below to take up challenge and crush the opposition with all the grace and majesty required by her office. A great hero would have sounded her horn or grabbed the microphone and dropped a growly song in ode to the glory of honor and closeness to her opponent as though to a lover before turning the mic stand over to reveal it as a spear and driving it through Alexa's breast. But Bella sits, and watches, and she waits.

Do you see, O Holy Empress, who watches every star in the sky and knows their songs better than they know themselves? Do you see? Your Bella knows her place. Your Bella knows what she is not. Your Bella will watch and wait for the right moment to act, because unlike everybody else on this gods forsaken hovel she has not forgotten her true mission. She is not distracted or moved to some stupid, passionate act because she is a Good Girl. 

She grins, and bites back a laugh. Oh Redana, why do you reduce yourself to this level? Your talents were made for a grander stage than this. You deserve a better partner. But it's alright. Just you wait: Bella will clean everything up for you and make things right again. Just like she always has. 

She raises her empty hand to the sky. Her Regalia burns with baneful crimson light as it pulses in the air atop her head, its leaf-blades seeming even sharper as it pushes her will across the planet with the invisible power of a tidal wave. 

"The Betrayer has refused the offer of the Dance. The Usurper has made mockery." Her voice is like a whip, every word cracking with specific intent for the benefit of these stupid, broken machines, "They must dance. [i]Make them."[/i]

[Bella is making a Cut: Separate Them]