Without word Halcyon left, her tail tip brushing the dusty ground as she did, the tip leaving a spatter of ink like that of blood. She never showed it, she never let it hint at anything under the surface, but below the cool composure, the impassive gaze, and hardened body was a volatile cocktail of rage and emotions she suppressed, more-so at times like this.

Betrayal was one word she was deeply, intimately familiar with. For she herself had been betrayed by her very King, slain by his own paw and brought back to life to serve as his plaything, his weapon, and even his cannon fodder; but to Halcyon that was a predictable outcome. A logical conclusion to the events in her life which had led her there.

This, however, was not logical. It defied and rebutted all logic, it was plain asinine. She heaved a breath out as she climbed the terrace to a hostel she'd rented. She wanted nothing more than to kill the people responsible for the sickening feeling in her gut, and more-so, she wanted the people responsible to feel agony just as she did. Halcyon was fully aware she could cause such an uproar, she knew she could make them suffer with her.

But instead, unlike her, she shut her door and stood against the railing of the second story structure and stared out at the sea with an unknown and pacified longing. She watched as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the already coral, stuccoed buildings in bright reds, blues and oranges.

And the thought that crept into her mind was, [I]'Even a place such as this with all its beauty, has a disgusting dark side that no one wants. No one wants to live in the alleys or dredges of towns, they want castles and landscapes and lush meadows behind their homes. Why would anyone waste time on making an alleyway look nice? It will still always be what it is, a small, dark crevice in the world.'[/I]

And with the last drops of golden light fading into the night, Halcyon couldn't help but swallow yet another bitter taste in her maw of anguish. She was so closed off, so careful already, how was it that someone could still cause her harm. Why had she let anyone near to her, this is the pain that trust brings.

"is not vorth et." she mumbled, her tongue thick with accent, voice deep and hardened by multiple wars. She spoke to no one, and to nothing. And not even the sounds of the night dared respond.

was supposed to be a "quick" vent art which turned out to be a huge pain in the ass. it was a giant picture with full view of the arched doorways above her head but I cropped it into a tiny piece because the whole atmosphere of hal tiny wasn't what I felt like shooting for.
If interested you can view the flatcolors of the original here: http://puu.sh/hP5Db/ce5d9dfb91.jpg