Everything in the universe is made by the Gods, and only by their divine will does anything remain so. Bella has always understood this instinctively, but only here with the help of her Auspex does she really understand what that means. Everywhere she looks: the walls, the floor, the lanterns carried by the knights, their armor, the mice themselves, all of them are wrapped in haphazard white threads. Thin, jagged, fraying things that pulse with inaudible heartbeats and writhe when she stares at them too long. They seem to her like nets holding holding her ship and her army together. Doesn't take a genius to figure out what [i]that[/i] means.

Everywhere she turns, the Auspex fills in more of the gaps. One by one, the members of her army blip from sight. Distractions. Behind her the hallways turn to walls of such inky black that they must have learned to swallow light. Her ear twitches at the sound of a Plover impacting her ship and the noises ripple across her vision like waves after R-- after someone suddenly stands up in a bath house. Huh. Are these ones smaller than the models she used to service back home? Their touch is lighter than it should be, and more frequent. They'll breach the hangar within another five minutes, unless they're stupid. The pathway to the hangar grows brighter the farther along it she looks, until the breach point seems lit up almost as bright as day. 

The sight pulls at her like a leash. Her legs are moving forward and the motion of her muscles sounds like music in her ears. Her tail flicks with a hurried sort of urgency as her nose picks out a scent hiding among the metals and oils and lubricants to pick up a trail reminiscent of palace halls and meeting rooms. It makes her palms itch with an ancient and familiar need. As she curls her fingers, she could swear she feels a weight enter them that's as natural to her as her own fur. 

And it's that weight that makes her stop in her tracks, because the image it calls to mind is her favorite mop. That she even [i]has[/i] a favorite mop is galling. She digs her heels in and hisses as the Auspex grows so cold the air around it curls with wisps of steam. A thin trickle of something streams down her cheek, but if it's a tear or blood she doesn't care. She brushes off her shoulders just to regain some sense of dignity, rolling her eyes when the motion makes her shirt flop over one of them again. 

She clenches her jaw tight. It takes all of her focus to force her army back into her sight. Her army. Hers. She stalks back into their midst, finding a spot where a proper commander should be, and clears her throat. 

"They're coming. But they don't know the dark like you do. They don't know these halls like you do. They don't know fear like you do. So hide yourselves, got it? We'll draw them to the Lanterns, and when they come that's where you'll hit them. This is the [i]Anemoi[/i], damn it. Teach them what that means! The old roles are dead! The darkness belongs to you now."

Bella flashes an evil grin, even allowing herself to unleash the purr building in her throat. Jil of the Bridge Clan looks up at her in awe, and through those quavering eyes, Bella beholds Apollo. Beholds Light, beyond the need for form or pretense, pure and unrestrained and terrifying. Her heart races in her chest. She swallows, but her purr only grows louder. 

This is not a mistake, then.