She stands still, her head tipped back just enough for her to look up at him from so very near, near enough that her complex perfume of myrrh and cloves touched with fruit wreathes the air around them with subtle scent.

Ice-blue, diamond-bright eyes meet his without fear.

"Their names?" One corner of her mouth twists in distaste. "So many it is they have, too. Oh, thick as thieves they are, the Shaper and the Runner, and no question that for them it is so fitting."

Anger edges her own words now, tinged with the bitterness of betrayal as she tells him,

"First the Runner -- fleet indeed, that wing-footed one, but not fast enough to outrun his own clever scheming, not this time. Call him Enagonios, Mercury, Hermes, Mercer, or what you will: all the same they are, and all the one who promised me that all was made new between us -- oh, but he lied, and the more fool I was, I let myself believe him, when all along he conspired with the other."

Bitterness slides quickly into black hatred and loathing as she tells him,

"That one it was who made my prison, oh yes -- crafted it with his own hands, he did, the so-cunning Shaper. Subtle-counselled Prometheus it was who imprisoned me so, Doctor, the fire-bringer himself."