[Jezebel's hands are unmoving, clamped solidly around his throat and digging in without relenting. Even while Ianchus' body starts to react, his arms and fingers are firm and ruthless, pushing down on him with every tiny wheeze of air that tries to enter.

This is what he likes, the sheer physicality of it. The way it knocks everyone down to their most animalistic, desperate for air, the most basic thing any creature needs. And he likes, too, how even he can bring it about -- he may not by strong or sturdy, but he can still bring a man to desperation with just his hands and a merciless will.]