A strange cold runs through her very soul when her sharp limbs take her forth and unto the halls -- blind to it all, she witnesses the grandiose design of his final design through the shape of his essence, mesmerized.
If the actual sight of him was blinding, what the DEMIURGE’s energy is cast as to someone who’s sight is bound to the veil beyond mortality, is so much more overwhelming; Xerneas has to leverage herself against her own will to withstand the sight; horns blaring into life with golden affair.
Xerneas does not dare step forward when she speaks, not yet.
“ I have come to take orders, ATRATH. “
She also does not dare make her tone sound as if she were correcting him, more so affirming the notion that her presence had been brought forth by loyalty and duty to his grand scheme.
The FIRST remains respectful in her first steps that bring her inside. When she goes forward, each step is preluded by flora that rises to cushion her each step; she didn’t wish to graze his pristine floors with bladed feet that are plenty capable of crushing armor and vitae alike.
Xerneas listens, and intently so does she understand. The information is deciphered, understood -- for she lacks sight, not insight.
“ They fear final retribution for their sins, for their flawed designs; they crave to remain imperfect and thriving in corrupt love.
Your mantle is my icon of fealty, I will don it with obedience for your determination. “
A pause, her steps finally bring him before him; his form doubling if not tripling her size, she gazes up at him, casting a faithful look towards her patron, the essence of her crown shared with him in a display of devotion.
Her lips never move when she speaks, as if invisible; lacking in its existence.
“ What would you have me do. “
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