She half-turns, raking the air with her gaze of judgment. Yes, she can feel it, the rift with its tearing dimensional energy, utterly unlike any portal of hers or anyone's making that she can recall in her eons of memories. What abomination created this? Is she meant to be trapped here? The very thought is distasteful, even laughable were that a thing a God-King could express; as if something of such raw and poor space-time construction could ever bind Illyria in one place.

The principality is making noises. She returns her attention to it. It lacks its worm. Perhaps he grew tired of its demands just as she did, she speculates with approval.

"You reek of fear," she observes flatly. A useful note. Creatures that fear Illyria are more likely to obey without question, though their previous encounter implies that this creature will not be so easily bowed. "How is it that I may return to my world?"

Her satisfying encounter with violence had been unjustly discontinued, and she wishes to correct that.