The formality of the woman's bow is in steel-eyed scrutiny, creating a reasonable inference pertaining their state of mind; they babble like a fool drunk on metaphor, gesturing their hands awhile their words needled the swordswoman's hearing with pricks of annoyance. Then the threats, presumptuous, arrogant and tactless. Mayhap they are truly so stupid; eager for death; ignorant of the viper they taunted and teased awhile their atmospheric machinations go unregistered.

What follows the pretentious display is encroachment; a threatening advance behest a glinting knife. Hisame scowls and dips her head to glare at the woman with murderous ire. Her right hand descends and curls into a crackling fist, the other's grip taut around their cutter as she cants her head to the dexter while bangs drape over pallid flesh. No verbal response is given, for words have lost worth; let the woman come and prove their words full or false; let them evade becoming another victim of the accursed [i]Fateful Death[/i]...

Let them [i][b]kill [/b][/i]that which the reaper has betrothed...