Brigitta, however, upon receiving the note has been training very hard – somewhere deep down, in the place where all inconvenient thoughts are shoved, she had known that ‘Arthur’ could hardly be considered a demonic name. Yet she had seen the ‘prince’ before it and had simply forced herself to presume – it would just be another fight against a demon, another chance to wipe the scum off the face of the earth.
It had to be, she didn’t want to die again yet… Killing an innocent human sat badly within her, grating right against that ever so sharp sense of justice. So she had guarded herself against considering the possibility of that – had hidden behind her usual mask of stupidity to get her through the training, through the brief goodbye to Kirilli.
But now she can deny it no longer; he is a man – and a fairly young one at that; looking about her physical age, perhaps a little older… And that troublesome sense of justice? Well, it’s burning deep within her – to the point that, even as he kneels, she’s still staring ever so uncertainly. Even with her hair tied back, even with her hastily gathered armour on, even with her favourite sword in her hand – she’s ready for battle, she’s ready to kill.
Yet she still can’t lift her sword.
…Right, this is ridiculous - and her puzzled frown melts into a scowl as she considers just how ridiculous it is; dammit, she’s not killing a human and she’s not being killed – stubborn as she is she’s convinced that she can find her way out of this.
“There is no reason to fight this battle – it’s stupid anyway. And that means that we shouldn’t fight it.”
To Brigitta this sounds perfectly logical; if she wasn’t holding a rather sharp sword at the moment she’d cross her arms and smirk smugly… It’s just a pity that she can’t escape this quite so easily.
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It had to be, she didn’t want to die again yet… Killing an innocent human sat badly within her, grating right against that ever so sharp sense of justice. So she had guarded herself against considering the possibility of that – had hidden behind her usual mask of stupidity to get her through the training, through the brief goodbye to Kirilli.
But now she can deny it no longer; he is a man – and a fairly young one at that; looking about her physical age, perhaps a little older… And that troublesome sense of justice? Well, it’s burning deep within her – to the point that, even as he kneels, she’s still staring ever so uncertainly. Even with her hair tied back, even with her hastily gathered armour on, even with her favourite sword in her hand – she’s ready for battle, she’s ready to kill.
Yet she still can’t lift her sword.
…Right, this is ridiculous - and her puzzled frown melts into a scowl as she considers just how ridiculous it is; dammit, she’s not killing a human and she’s not being killed – stubborn as she is she’s convinced that she can find her way out of this.
“There is no reason to fight this battle – it’s stupid anyway. And that means that we shouldn’t fight it.”
To Brigitta this sounds perfectly logical; if she wasn’t holding a rather sharp sword at the moment she’d cross her arms and smirk smugly… It’s just a pity that she can’t escape this quite so easily.