Gigantic loud mouth.

Lady Harlot was not her usual loud-mouthed, overly-energetic self today, oh no indeed. She seemed tired, weary, with dark bags under her eyes, and the eyes themselves displayed a trouble, waning soul. The eyes of someone who has come to the end, the brink, to the edge of the abyss, looked down at the infinite, consuming darkness and has been struck by regret. Oh, I know not what troubles Lady Harlot, but I will not pretend it does not satisfy me infinitely. Lady Harlot with all her arrogance and self-conceit, to see her so defeated! Ha!

It fulfils me. Is it wrong for me to derive such childlike joy from whatever troubles her? Is it immoral? Could I have misunderstood her intentions in the first place? Is her suffering more catastrophic than I understand, more important than our pathetic rivalry? Possibly, but I won't let such thoughts plight my conscience. The fact is, Lady Harlot dared to challenge me, and now is suffering the implications of such a farcical course of action. She was foolish to even attempt.

Looked down at the abyss and had second thoughts. Silly girl with her doubts and reluctance.

Observe, as I jump.