You know, Gerry. When you rip a knife across someone's shoulders, when all she's wearing is a strappy nightgown, that nightgown is going to fall right off. At least you'll get to see the slice of skin, black where red should be, almost hissing... and not a single drop of blood. Like drained, post-mortem. She thinks it's pretty, if not annoying. Now she simply sighs. Sighs like she's dealing with a particularly petulant child.
"Oh you're one of His things alright. I certainly didn't make you. You're human as they come." Does she sound bored and just a little bit motherish? Sure. "And to ease your questioning mind; your Paladins have nothing to do with me, nor I them. You're all just God's mis-lead children, running in circles with your heads cut off. It's no bother of mine."
She does however, step closer to the blonde, regardless of where they'd both been at this point. "But you are precious. Forcing your own path in life, regardless of His lack of path. And chaotic all the way."
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"Oh you're one of His things alright. I certainly didn't make you. You're human as they come." Does she sound bored and just a little bit motherish? Sure. "And to ease your questioning mind; your Paladins have nothing to do with me, nor I them. You're all just God's mis-lead children, running in circles with your heads cut off. It's no bother of mine."
She does however, step closer to the blonde, regardless of where they'd both been at this point. "But you are precious. Forcing your own path in life, regardless of His lack of path. And chaotic all the way."