Simper
"Mistress."
Shoulders rounded, hands empty, eyes cast to the floor - these are the ingredients of a Horseman's downfall. Her words are candy floss in the air, soft, ephemeral, and her voice drips with the honey saccharine of submission, and watch how easily the Horseman warms, look how with praise and simpering she has infiltrated this jagged shell which suffering would only have hardened. Witness her accomplishment.
The Black Rider strides with the confidence of the unwary (the unwatched), sparing not a thought to the shadow at her side and in her soul, and this - this is the victory of sycophancy.
A/N: Who watches the Watchers?