In fact, most Servitors never mention it at all. It's safer that way and in her realm, a fragile safety is all most desire. They would not admit to even that. When some Servitors feel the unavoidable need to mention it, they call it 'Beleth's Teddy Bear'. They never say this around Beleth, but most of them eventually vanish despite that. Occassionally, bits of them are found, or messages on the walls in their handwriting and blood, or other things that make her smarter Servitors shiver and smile and bow and serve.

They can avoid mentioning it, and do, but they can't avoid seeing it.

Beleth carries it with her wherever she goes inside her tower, cuddling it limply to her side, folding its limbs to fit into her lap, where she will stroke it gently, idly, combing her fingers through dry dead hair. Occassionally they'll slip into an eye, which will trail pale fluid down a white cheek - usually white - while Beleth would wipe her fingers and her talons idly on a fold of her skirts.

Sometimes after she'd kept it too long, it would start to rot. It wasn't supposed to, her Servitors were fairly sure, but there was something about their Lady that drove her teddy bear to its worst possible state. Dry hair would become drier, crackle, and come out in tangles as Beleth stroked. Fingers that run down white cheeks to whiter breasts trail away flakes of skin, leaving redness behind - or worse, blackness and white ooze. Something wrong about that form oozing white and red and black down in rivulets. She would keep it, though, keep cuddling until the rot reached its eyes and went yellow and liquid and then she would discard it and send bait to Earth for a new one.

She would usually come back with a new one, all fresh from the kill, but sometimes she herself would be snapped back to her citadel and Heart and though as a Princess she shrugged off Trauma within a second or less, she would be irritable the next day. No fragile safety then for her Servitors, caught up in her nightmare truths; they'd scream along with her and beat mirrors until they shattered into their limbs and watch with horror as their bodies explodes with tumours and wept pus.

They'd be back to normal the next day and thank someone they never could name that their Lady was Djinn and her passions waned quickly into apathy. Their thanks were silent.

When she came back with a freshly killed Vessel corpse, it was hard not to call it by name. Most of them knew better; considering what happened to those who even called it her teddy bear - they still hear the screams sometimes, or step over Impudite limbs on their way about their business, still see handprints on blood on the walls, still see trailing gobs of flesh along pathways he used to have to take while working - well, then what would happen to those who referred to it as 'Blandine'?

They do not dare speak where she might somehow hear.