All of a sudden, Elfleda giggled. "Are you a throat, begging to be cut?!" She demanded of the girl, perhaps with just a lilting measure of Atia's own madness strained within her voice. Perhaps that was precisely what it happened to be. The successor beginning to pollute through her, too, in signification of personal victory. "In Leviathan's court, sacrifice is everything, child...! One must surrender. One must obey... And you do neither."
Appearing to flit around Atia, whether wrist still be held tight or not, Elfleda closed flush against Leviathan's Bride. There was no threat from her. All power had gone; the brunette stripped of rank, title and dominion. Words were whispered, then. Words unintelligable by the Slayer, spoken in an ancient tongue to Atia. Not demonic... Latin. Exactly the same regional differences, indeed, associated with Atia's old home. The phrases being those speaking of something other than mere subordination. They were those of praise. Of actual worship and reverence. Each Bride, no doubt, had cults existing in many worlds, of those who prayed to them, unknowing that such thoughts drifted straight to Leviathan, through such emissaries. They were, after all, diplomats.
But this was different... Rarely, perhaps even never before, had former Bride shown willingness to offer herself unto one of present. Leviathan no longer wanted Elfleda... Which equated to another being free to claim her as personal property.
A passing glance to Rhiannon again. Elfleda's linguistic intonation returning, once more, to English.