Being around Larkspur was a blessing. Few things seemed to brighten her day as much as her beloved boy. He had done well by himself, set out with the plans she had laid carefully for him. The D'Angelo's had to continue and there was no one for the elder to breed with, and besides, Larkspur was of a far more likely age to make strong children. His words of Eris's pregnancy had brought her great joy - especially the fact she was a Lykoi. Misery was contentedly oblivious that Eris's veins pumped the same blood that Poe, Samhain, and little Rune had. Sometimes she regretted breaking that boy's neck, he could not help his appearance. There were times when she had looked in Poe's eyes - identical to her own - and she knew she carried the ghost of her lost brother. It was a pity madness ran so deeply in her veins.
Misery's eyes were bad. Throughout her life she had dancing black spots that swarmed her vision and so the shape in the distance was blurry at best. Misery did not cross the woods quietly - she was found of hitting any and everything that got in her arthritic way, the walking stave made a good tool for destroying all that annoyed her. She could smell coyote in the distance - but she was not afraid. The skinny white female knew well enough to know they would not necessarily come after her - she was no prize, nor would she even make a half decent meal.
For a brief moment, it was like seeing Poe again. Slight and feminine, with those yellow-green eyes. She didn't have the white markings her most adored daughter had, but it made her heart skip a painful beat. She's dead and you know it. The voice of sweet madness whispered, Damian, her Damian, always with her, whispering his dark omens. This female was not her pretty little Poe, but it struck Misery very clearly - before age had turned her white, this female was damned near identical to her. She was identical to a stronger, healthier younger Misery. But Misery was often thin and sharp and this lady was quite the beauty. "You look miserable." Plain words slipping out in her soft voice. The white lady studied the dark female, leaning her slight weight on the carved walking stave that she used to get around.
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