Nova
After her session with Marcus, Nova's still itching to train. She'd done fine - of course she had, she's awesome - but it doesn't relieve the aching need to do better. She can't sleep, can't eat, can't leave knowing that nothing has truly changed - that she hasn't changed. She doesn't feel any different, and she hasn't proven anyone wrong. So Nova does what she always does when nothing seems to be going her way.
She shows off.
Standing in the middle of the ring, she stares down the training dummy, magic coursing unfiltered through her veins. Dressed in a starry purple sweater and tie-dye rainbow leggings with pink strands in her hair, the scowl she wears looks almost adorable, pinching at her features like a toddler with a pout. But the subtle wind in her hair and the icy glimmer of her fingertips hint at a deeper power that would silence most laughter.
Clenching her jaw, she flicks a hand towards the dummy. In a matter of heartbeats, ice forms into glittering shards that fly lightning quick through the air to imbed themselves into the hay-filled chest of the imaginary person, the frozen water spreading to encapsulate the torso.
But it's not enough.
She swipes another hand, clearing the ice into water before slashing it back towards the dummy in arcs of ice, ripping through the fabric with a loud tearing sound. The water evaporates into thin air like it had never existed, but her frown persists, obviously still displeased with her performance.
She shows off.
Standing in the middle of the ring, she stares down the training dummy, magic coursing unfiltered through her veins. Dressed in a starry purple sweater and tie-dye rainbow leggings with pink strands in her hair, the scowl she wears looks almost adorable, pinching at her features like a toddler with a pout. But the subtle wind in her hair and the icy glimmer of her fingertips hint at a deeper power that would silence most laughter.
Clenching her jaw, she flicks a hand towards the dummy. In a matter of heartbeats, ice forms into glittering shards that fly lightning quick through the air to imbed themselves into the hay-filled chest of the imaginary person, the frozen water spreading to encapsulate the torso.
But it's not enough.
She swipes another hand, clearing the ice into water before slashing it back towards the dummy in arcs of ice, ripping through the fabric with a loud tearing sound. The water evaporates into thin air like it had never existed, but her frown persists, obviously still displeased with her performance.
as many as the stars in the sky
that no one can count
as many as the grains of sand on the seashore
that no one can measure
that no one can count
as many as the grains of sand on the seashore
that no one can measure
