| The future belongs to those |
Being sized up isn't something Elizabeth's used to, but she takes it more as a sign of Flora's character than something to be concerned over. She smiles brightly at the suggestion, intrigued to see what differences they might find. "As long as you don't mind."
Her laugh feels like it warms the snowy space by a degree, a soothing brush against skin. "We'll see. I think I might be lucky if I hit it at all." She'd struggled a lot when Deimos had been teaching her, and Elizabeth discovered that she should probably stick to magic rather than weapons. But magic and weapons might be a different story.
Facing the ring, she politely accepts one of Flora's daggers, appreciating their light weight and elegant appearance. It's obvious that she doesn't hold sharp objects often, because she holds it a little stiffly, trying to remember how to throw a dagger. After a moment of consideration, she places the tip between her thumb and forefinger, taking aim at a nearby dummy before releasing it. The magic rises in her fingertips, flowing out to push against the projectile and spur it forward, but the force of the magic disrupts its direction, making her already poor aim that much worse. It wiggles in the air before scraping the edge of the arm and flying past. She can't say she's surprised.
Her laugh feels like it warms the snowy space by a degree, a soothing brush against skin. "We'll see. I think I might be lucky if I hit it at all." She'd struggled a lot when Deimos had been teaching her, and Elizabeth discovered that she should probably stick to magic rather than weapons. But magic and weapons might be a different story.
Facing the ring, she politely accepts one of Flora's daggers, appreciating their light weight and elegant appearance. It's obvious that she doesn't hold sharp objects often, because she holds it a little stiffly, trying to remember how to throw a dagger. After a moment of consideration, she places the tip between her thumb and forefinger, taking aim at a nearby dummy before releasing it. The magic rises in her fingertips, flowing out to push against the projectile and spur it forward, but the force of the magic disrupts its direction, making her already poor aim that much worse. It wiggles in the air before scraping the edge of the arm and flying past. She can't say she's surprised.
Elizabeth
| who believe in the beauty of their dreams |
