She glows in the dark, lit up in lilac and black by the force of kisses. It shines through her bodysuit, revealing her shapes and curves. It is like the darkness has undressed her.

"Everything, then," she said. "I will give you everything I know how to give."

Then she's swept away, towards the centre of power.

There are certain concepts that Solarel does not possess. That conflict is undesirable. That parties should not end in conflagration. But one of the big ones is that she doesn't understand the idea of theft. To creep like a thief in the night and take something that belonged to someone else - that concept fell apart on multiple levels. Possession was worthless; ownership was decided by the spirits. Giving offense with dishonourable tactics could cause a feud between tribes that would last generations. That if you took something then you were also taking the responsibility to use it on behalf of your tribe. Stealing a bucket meant drawing from the well. 

So she had to stand before her Empresses directly and declare her intent. 

There was a BANG and a crash that shocked through the rising din as she cut a table in two with her sword of gold. No words. Not for these, Outsiders in the truest sense. For them she merely points, and hefts her sword. This is a feud. All know how she was wronged. All know the justice of her case. The destruction about to commence is but the return of toxic energy. She is fighting for love. For justice. For honour itself.

At least, that's in Solarel's head it's that clear. To onlookers her appearance could mean [i]anything[/i]. This was a tribal warrior from the stormlands who had a religious duty not to explain anything to anyone. She was speaking through her actions and, despite what she might think, cutting a table in half and advancing menacingly could be taken in a variety of different ways.