mall-caps;letter-spacing:4px;">THE SPARK OF DAWNThe process was a simple one, straight lines and hot blood and stained fingers as she worked to carve the mark into his shoulder over and over again. It was the same process as it had been with others: Sirius, Janos, Bastion, herself. The blood didn't bother her — in fact, the sickly metallic evoked an awkward excitement in the same way it had while scarring the Boss. She grimaced at the notion, shoving the undesired desires back into the caves of her mind.
Larkspur's voice distracted her for only a moment, her ears shifting to listen to each careful syllable. Something about his fur making him wrong — well, he was wrong, but she certainly wouldn't blame it on his fur. Having lived in the golden world of Eterne, she took a special liking to the black or white coats of certain wolves; black and white were not the colors of coyotes, as far as she was aware. She grunted a response to his final words, unwilling to argue with him — she didn't believe he had changed his path, for it couldn't have been his path to begin with if he had so easily pulled away, but arguing with something like him was pointless. Instead, she paused in her work, glancing up from the bloody mark just long enough to glance at one pumpkin-orange eye from the awkward angle at which she sat.
"Aye liek your fur. It doesn't mayke you wrong."
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