If eyes could ever feel the pangs of a sweetened heart, or the prick of humble thorn, one might associate the sensation with Orthae. One might, if tempted, if deceived, call the vamp woman "beautiful". Seemingly so pure, so elegant, so..perfect. Ghoulish even, a bewitching, unearthly phantom, with a looming cadaverous quality. Indeed, heads of all ages and gender turn at the sight of this temptress draped in a sensationally fiery attire, but rather than the expected nod of appreciative respect, or the haughty grin of a worshiped beauty, these adoring expressions would be met with impassive disinterest unless of course, regarding a purpose of leverage. With an uncaring wave of the hand, the demoness would only sigh, only smirk as one would deliver to an ignorant child. Foolish minion.. Silly vagrants! Have you never seen art before? Beyond the cloak of pale dye that clings to her back, shoulders and hips like a snug evening dress is what sets her apart from ordinary. Her shimmering robe of phoenix embellishment; impeccable unsullied luster collides in a divinely turbulent war with various tones of amorous scarlets, radiant golds and exquisite corals sweeping across her backside, proceeding to the tip of her voluptuous tail. Her face, crafted meticulously like the point of an arrow head, is a stunning facade of frigid, unphased beauty. Indeed, to a painter or an admirer's eye, her mask is beautiful, and breathtaking. But even the most alluring of palettes can be ruined with an expression of the utmost smugness. The most malicious of heartless glances. Her eyes, reddish orange like feverish embers, coals from the pits of hell itself, shine hauntingly beneath a fringed curtain of long, dark lashes. Her gaze, however enticingly ghoulish and strange, however gorgeously wicked, only mirrors the flat chill of her hardened heart.

Never was there scorn before wrath, just as never was there turmoil before Orthae. Draped in a charlatan's silk, serpents encircle her throat like the finest diamonds, their whispers a drifting lullaby in her delicate ears. 'What say you, love, to murdering the mad?' She is ruthless, daunting, a courtesan with a flicker of the rogue. Nothing about her offers warmth, and her very semblance reeks of avarice. Ravenous eyes, so black in their desire, covet all they touch, and though her compassion might be lacking, her fury is immense, and as unpredictable as any enraged viper. When she speaks, it is only to those deemed worthy; her words are often cold and quick to cripple others, for she isn't one to sugar coat things.

Courtesan's envy the angel of avarice, with those come-hither eyes and curvy flanks dusted a liar's pearl. Orthae acts as rashly and unpredictably as a spoiled child, spitfire spilling from those lovely lips with the ease of water through a sieve. Her feet appear dusted in soot and ash, as if she slumbered in the remnants of a burning building, and though her eyes smolder with fire, she appears flawless and eternally thriving. She was borne of fire, and it is the kindom of its nature to which she rules. The demoness laughs in the face of restraint and relishes in destruction. Rivals to her loathing tremble at her very presence and for every pleasure she calls to come forth, a thousand wither in the same breath. Her love is a war, a string of hostilities wrought with cannibalistic indulgence and blind brutality.

The she-demon is a hyena, savage and unmerciful in most affairs. Although, however stunningly beautiful her outer-appearance may seem, you will come to find her looks are dangerously decieving. As a simple vegabond woman-- she'd make any man crumple before her. Seen as a fine posession in the eyes of Royalty, the beautiful goddess could hither a King to bow down before her in flattery, and once in the trap of her overwhelming grasp, she will greedily cause his world crumble at her feet for her own demented pleasure.