[center][img]http://i1082.photobucket.com/albums/j362/LillianThorne/my%20stuff/Siya.png[/img][/center] Darkness lit ruby red, soft noises, animal sounds, flesh on flesh and hunger fit to pull down the heavens. It was all she knew just then, that room, the entirety of Atticus’ flesh, it was her whole world and it was not enough. She knew it would never be enough but she looked forward to several lifetimes of trying to sate herself on him. She was ripe with power, a whole bloodline’s worth and more. It made her tough, tougher than her small frame would indicate. She let him know this without words. She told him with action that he did not have to hold back, not with her, not ever. Things were going splendidly, they were making good headway into a year apart, a year of unrelenting hunger and worry when her very world shook. For a second she was confused. Just what had shuddered? Her? No, they hadn’t been that far into things. It was then that she realized that it was the whole castle that seemed to shake. She paused, lifting her head from what she had been about and listened, catching the distant shattering of glass. Glass, perhaps someone just knocked over a glass. She moved to stretch herself back along the length of delicious Incubus when a roar filled the night. A challenging, deafening roar. Veti. [i]Dammit, dammit, dammit[/i], she thought to herself wanting to stomp her feet and throw a fit. They were so close, so very close. She was so damn hungry! The last garment had just fallen to the floor, things were just going to get interesting. A string of words taught her by Max and Veti in the endless angry squabbles between the two slipped from her doll’s mouth in a torrent of fury. The invective, which was thorough and alarmingly creative was made bizarrely adorable coming from the tiny, enraged form. She sat up, all fluid grace and fury and swung her bare legs over the sides of the bed, reaching for the nearest bit of clothing and pulling it on, it was Atticus shirt which covered all the pertinent bits. Her hair was a tousled mess and she looked like a debauched doll in the ruby light of his eyes. “We should go.” She said, an adorable snarl in her words as she reached for the door handle, anger thickening her accent. “But we are not done.” She added admonishingly. Something was going to die, spectacularly, messily. And if she had her way it was going to be by her bare… fucking… hands.