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.

Despite being frail and incredibly small physically, the white lady was blissfully unafraid of the world around her. One did not survive the things she had without coming to one of two conclusions - either being blessed, or cursed - and Misery as of her later years, had decided she was blessed. Born in darkness, to He Who Walks Behind the Rows, the dark god Tak, she had been born to evil. But age had turned her, twisted her, and she stood a gleaming ghost, basking in the redemptive light of Ankh. But her heart would always belong to the dark one. Her family thought her holy and redeemed - but she was blacker than ever, deep down. But Misery had simply decided after surviving numerous pyres mostly unscathed - one of which she had willingly thrown herself on to save the silver necklace around her throat - she was invulnerable to death. One day Tak would crawl from the dark skies and he would tear her to pieces - but otherwise, Misery was simply certain she could not die.

The pretty lady before her eyes is adorned. Scar marks in an intricate spiral, earrings in her perked ears, Misery found them all lovely. Her own tattoo - a branded scar in the mark of a triskele, stood out in sharp shades of malachite against her white fur. The only jewelry she wore was a slightly rounded inverted cross - grabbing things from burning bodies tended to warp, shockingly. Her left hand still had the burn-scar in the shape of the cross. Sometimes she stared at it for hours in a kind of dark trance. Go play with the coyotes, Misery. Maybe you can come see me soon. Beloved Damian, taunting her into death defying feats. Maybe it was her own suicidal desires - he stood beyond the veil and she so missed him - but she was certain she could walk into the heart of the territory and be fine. Most coyotes weren't fond of tearing old ladies to shred...at least she thought so. Besides, Kaena, the beautiful Queen of the coyotes was a friend. "Ah, probably be best not to make the coyotes mad. They don't like the wolves." Idle chatter really, what coyote would like a wolf? "The name's Misery D'Angelo." A faint, yellow-toothed grin offered as she studied the pretty lady. "So just what on this godforsaking world has you so down?" Simple, genuine curiosity. It had been a long time since she had walked the lands - it would do best to make friends.

Misery knew what it was like to be ostracized for one's looks. Being born blacker than sin had led to a life of abuse and neglect. Then one day she had been found in the arms of a child of Rah'khir - a lovely female by the name of Asorin - and the pyre had burned for her. But sweet Ankh, her often-loved and hated twin had set her free. Misery had ran as far as her weak legs could take her, but it had been enough. Away from father-uncle and mother-aunt. She let out a quiet snort at Eris's words, shaking her pale head. "S'foolishness, all that is. Half of the Lykoi's have wolf blood in them, and from what I remember, they make up a mighty chunk of Inferni." Hating what was inside you was plain and simple foolishness in her opinion.

Eris, she announced herself. A happy grin crossed her face and she beamed at the pretty lady. This was the creature who would be bringing new D'Angelo's into the world, she was pleased. "I am indeed. He's my nephew, more like a son though, really. He's a good boy." This was playing out nicely. Larkspur had picked someone who seemed to have a bit of intelligence in them - which would play out nicely for their children. He was simply, as much through birth as through how he had been treated - years of neglect had turned him nearly feral. There was a simple, almost savage kind of intellect in Eris's eyes. "He told me about you. You'll be having his babes." There was a quiet note of pride in her voice - Larkspur was a better boy than any she had ever had. "Aye, the world's a cranky old bitch." The words were spoken in a sour tone, Misery knew the old bitch that life was well. For forty-seven days she had known real joy - then Damian had fallen and life had seemed darker ever since. "Are you Lykoi or somethin' else?" It was fair enough to assume she was one of them - the Inferni Misery had known was mostly that family.