The wave of pressure builds up behind her eyelids so slowly she doesn't even notice it until it's too late. That moment when elation turns to raw stress. Now that she feels it, it's too late. Much too late. She squeezes her eyes shut in pain and scowls, but even the sensation of her claws against her skin isn't enough to relieve the tension. This must be fixed.

"Hrrrah!"

With a viper-quick snap of her wrist, Bella lashes her claws across Omn's space. For a brief moment there's nothing but the sparks between them and the echoes of her exertion. And then the chain-veil drops to the ground in shreds with a series of dull clinks. 

"Moron. A cage is useless as long as she's got the Auspex. Though maybe if... hrrrgh, don't distract me. Just, just send for a plasma grinder. And as much solvent and cleaning chemicals as you've got on this stupid planet. We're running out of time, and [i]you[/i] need to be presentable for the Princess before she gets here."

The tension ripples up Bella's arms and then across her back. Bile rises in her throat, and her tongue feels drier than an oven, but she sets her wine delicately on a table next to her still half finished. There is Work to be done, and she's the only one talented enough to be trusted with it.

"...Bring pillows, too. And more wine. And a strong strip of clean linen. And... and I want a good chair!"

Bella growls the entire time she's working. The bitter stench of cleaning supplies makes her heart race and her tail lash uncontrollably. Her ears ring with the sound of the grinder as it tears away bits of corroded metal from Omn's body. Her fingers stroke the smoothness that remains, catching sparks with her claws wherever she picks away a spare fleck too delicate to reach with tools. 

The twisting feeling inside her stomach is confusing. Good girls do their chores, bad girls miss a spot. Bad girls are punished. The spark of fear that thought recalls is as ridiculous as it is potent. It's not her handlers she imagines in this moment, but the Empress herself. One green eye, one blue, the same as her daughter. Only... the sharpness in both of those eyes could cut a servitor to ribbons even faster than Bella's claws. Redana has none of that. And she mustn't. She mustn't ever. Bella swallows despite the dryness in her throat, and works faster. 

Omn is starting to shine, surely restored to the point of glory it hasn't reached since Molech's stupidity turned his empire into a history lesson. Hera's hand is upon hers, Hera's miracle is the motion of Bella's arms as they become more rhythmic and less flustered. It's the way that her tail shifts from agitated lashing to playful swishing. The miracle of song is in the air that turns frustrated growling into the soft humming of lullabies and hymns that used to captivate a certain little princess when nothing else would hold her focus. 

Bella steps away and observes her good work. The sigh that escapes her lips feels like unwinding several weeks' worth of tension in a single motion. She reaches automatically for her wine, and allows herself to lounge in the chair the machines brought for her just as she'd asked. She is a Good Girl.

In the dark surface of the wine, Bella's smile ripples back at her. She drinks the air around her with the same savor as she drinks the rich, sweet liquid. It is impossible that Redana won't see how hard she's worked. It's impossible that Redana won't realize where she belongs. Simply impossible. She's done everything right. Everything. Now the only thing left to do is open her arms in the offer of comfort for the silliest of princesses, and let that motion carry them both to the only place they belong.

It's time to go Home.