"You're pretty when you're angry, you know."
The words set Anisse's stomach turning, as did the rank breath of the elf as he leered in her face. Ale--rank, sour ale. By all accounts, the elf had belonged upstairs with the rest of the drunken rabble. There seemed to be some sort of horrid celebration that Anisse couldn't even begin to understand where everyone decided to make a profession out of being an idiot. Yet now, the elf was down in her little sacred space, invading it again, when she had done everything she could to avoid being upstairs.
Yet this was not what upset her most.
Pretty. It did something in her, the mere sound of the word, even as she pushed the elf pirate down, making him fall on the small narrow space of her room. He was still laughing at her, swaying as he tried to get up back to his feet. Her mind went back, however, to a time where the word "pretty" meant "weak". Where strength was measured by devotion, and she was just another nameless Acolyte.
Her red hair was so soft, and her kohl eyeliner ruined the prettiness of her face. She begged, pleaded for her life, offered money, to which all were numb to. All stared at the Defector, a disgusting, vain thing, clinging to her flesh as if it were her God. Oh how she had used to her long-lashed eyes to get everything she wanted, a pretty smile to weaken hearts around here. Except now, in the heart of the Twilight's, it was not a heart she could weaken. Unfortunately, it took much too long for the girl to realize this. Anisse held the ripped portion of her scalp in her hand still, listening to the hateful words of the Speaker, speaking of the farce of the Defector's beauty, and how she hid behind it. She would not stop crying, and Anisse could not bear to look.
The green-eyed girl disgusted Anisse with her weakness.
'Pretty', the Speaker hissed. 'Let me show you your true beauty.'
The shrieks exploded around the camp as the Defector was held down, writhing as the sharp knife was taken to her face. Her flesh peeled in pieces, like an onion.
'Pretty' meant...'victim'.
Fast forward to now, and Anisse was staring down the nameless elf with a cold, horrible glare. He'd insulted her one too many times, nevermind that he managed to return her pendant after an eternity of ridicule. A command in demonic dripped from her lips, and the swirling mass of shadow in the crypt separated to assist its 'mistress', ready to serve. The elf was able to resist little as the voidwalker rolled him up in the abyssal darkness of its body, suspended there.
He needed to be humbled.
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