The first thing Mosaic does is bow. Her spine curls downward while her neck lifts up to maintain her posture as she dips, lower and lower until the ribbons in her hair sweep across the floor. Her left arm reaches across her chest while her right stretches off into the air. The shadows and the broken lighting are more than enough to change the tint of her fur, transforming the pristine white into something mottled and almost like sea foam. Too bright in places and too dark in others, and the overall effect shifted from warm heat to something much too cool.

She holds the pose to avoid having to say anything for another moment. She hides the rising and falling of her chest, and does not risk speaking while she sounds like she ran through a ship she mostly stalked across, instead. She holds the pose for the sake of respect. Because she must admire what she sees. 

The ache and hidden shiver of her body is weakness. The curl of her tail above her back is strength. Her deference to the hissing knight before her is weakness. Her respect for Power is strength. Her home, her walls, her favorite chair are trickling down into the throne of the woman she means to depose. This too is strength. This too is weakness. 

She rises again, and the smile on her face has nothing of cockiness or derision inside of it. She is in the presence of the Invincible. The shadow that splits the Crystal Knight's face is not a scar. Scars are things worn by those who bleed. This is acknowledgment. The might of the blow struck against her has been turned into paint. Already the blotch of darkness is melting away as the crew frantically works the materials of her home better into walls where it converts into more and more perfect lighting. This is Art. This is a transient monument to an act that had shattered Mosaic's body and meant nothing more than the stroke of a brush to the mighty Crystal Knight.

An idiot might say that vanity allowed Mosaic to walk into a throne room and posture after meeting little more than token resistance. But she knows better. This is Power. This is the raw, impossible might of the Skies. Of course aesthetics are more important than defenses. Defense is something you build if you think you might get hurt. The Endless Azure Skies are above all of that. They stretch over every petty, mortal concern so that only Beauty is left to them to tend to. 

It pulls her breath short, in a way that has nothing to do with the fatigue in her body that wages war with the spikes of adrenaline currently surging through her bloodstream. It pulls her lips apart in awe. It also sets her eyes ablaze with starlight and puts strength back into her limbs. For all that this is the domain of godhood, it is also an immovable fact that if Mosaic had to fight her way into this chamber, she would not be standing now. Her hunt has been acknowledged, and the riddle of Zeus is all around her. What could be better for answering the question she yearns to know more than anything?

She rises. Her tail cracks like thunder. Her fingers dance across her braid, to feel the flutter of each of her promises to walk away from this against her fingtertips. Her teeth glint in the relative darkness while mismatched eyes shine like lanterns up at the throne. Up at prey. 

"Greetings, Fair Lady Crystal Knight," she laughs, though it hurts her ribs, "Welcome to my home! In the spirit of hospitality, I have come to ask you to return my teacher to me. As her Captain it's my responsibility to punish her for breaking a promise, see. I couldn't possibly ask an honored guest to do it for me~"

Mosaic's lips are painted crimson. As she finishes speaking, they pull up into a devil's smirk.