Her surroundings are DARK and humid, black tendrils of inky hair
     curving to caress the slope of her throat. It was rare that she went
     out of her way to VISIT with anyone, footsteps echoing across the
     valley  of  death  and  into  the  hearts  of  the  suffering  and  dying.
     Discordia saw fit to cock her head, a smile twitching at the corners
     of her lips.

                 ❝    Why does everyone ask that whenever I show up?
                        …It was just an eruption. Volcanoes are so finicky,
                                                                             happens everyday.   ❞