shrinking violet

im gonna keep rolling with these because for some reason this doesnt seem far from the truth anyway

she already mourned for the death of her son once. his final cry was a scream filled with anguish that remained fresh in her mind still, and only minutes later did the empty silence left by his descent to the earth fill with a guttural growl. she watches in horror as her precious son rises from death, his skin still containing remnants of life. without any hesitation he pulls the sword stabbed through his chest out, and olivia cringes as she hears the blade slide through fresh organs. trails of red cling onto worn silver. the inigo she knew would have had the decency to flick the blood away before charging at another opponent, but the creature standing before her no longer contains any characteristics of the man owning the body before. this vessel of death just stumbles hurriedly towards her, and olivia steps back, the edge of the blade cutting a thin line, shallow line over her abdomen and tears a bit of fabric.

olivia lets out a yelp and tears begin streaming down her face. never in her life did she want to fight a risen form of her son, but it was a possibility she knew she`d have to face if she fought side by side with him in every campaign. she calls out his name and it comes out as a whimper. its head turns and it makes another lunge for her, this time missing completely.

she steadies her blade as she focuses on the battle at hand. there`s a lump in her throat, formed by the memories of inigo affectionately calling out to his mother, of the dancing he finally shows her after weeks of her trying to watch him. her son would not fight so clumsily without a smile on his face. this is not her son. this will never be her son again.

a sad smile spreads her lips but never reaches her eyes.

"why?"

her voice is sharp, the single word piercing the thick air between them. he says something about orders and a king, his explanation falling upon deaf ears. she simply stares at him with an inquisitive look, at his gold eyes that refuse to make contact with hers. olivia remembers his smile, his easy-going laughter, and the way his teeth flashed white against his bronze skin. she remembers the way his lips felt as they touched the back of her hand politely, softly, all with care. a thin line is what his lips are now, the lines of laughter since disappearing from his face.

the point of his blade points straight to her heart. she finds it ironic, a comical coincidence. there`s a stabbing, aching pain in her chest she won`t have time to appease. she wants to continue talking things out, but he lunges at her, and she`s forced to flick her wrist in a parry four to deflect his blade to the side. as his body flies past her with the momentum, she lunges forward and pokes his rib cage with her wooden sword. he lets out a gasp, and olivia wonders if he expected her to let him attack her. she would, if she didn`t just live for herself. she lives for her son as well.

a swordsman general would have fought better if he were serious, but olivia feels the conviction fading in his blade, and soon she overpowers him. she knocks the sindrian general onto his back and she`s quick to straddle him, sitting stubbornly on his stomach, his blade flying off towards the side. for what seems like an eternity he just lays there, waiting for olivia to finish him off. she has to finish him off. there is something sharrkan is hiding, information as to why only one of them could walk out of this alive.

her voice comes out as a whisper, and he has to strain his ears to listen to her breathe out, “why?"

this time, her question is greeted with silence. sharrkan`s eyes glances towards a door—a room where inigo stood. something clicks, bringing conviction back to her blade. she estimates the amount of times she would have to clobber him until he stopped moving, ceasing all human activity, as she raises her blade above his head.

"please," she chokes. “just tell me why!"

SHE HAS GALE FORCE BUT I AM ASSUME YOU WANT THAT MEME TO BE DONE

to think, just a while ago they spoke about starting a dancing act together.

or, it was more like olivia, after admiring tharja`s figure with envy, tried to persuade the dark mage to do an act or two. tharja would have looked beautiful as the center of the stage, and with a few rehearsed moves, she could have easily captivated an audience at her first debut. olivia remembers the critical, yet curious, look she gave her upon the mere suggestion, but within the violet shade had a deeper feeling tharja would never express out loud.

it was appreciation. a touch of flattery in a sense no man has properly displayed. olivia believed in a hidden talent buried beneath all of the hexes, and, with a bit more of a push, tharja could have considered exploring that option.

this was the tharja that wasn`t moaning mindlessly, with eyes glowing a crimson red. the tharja whose skin was pale, not ashened gray with death. the tharja who was alive.

this tharja is not the tharja she knew. her precision with her strike is dead on, and the former shell of what used to be her comrade slumps to the ground. the world around her blurs as tears well up in her eyes, but she does not lift her head.

normally she`s against violence but she isn`t going to stop her bodyguard from technically doing her job.

danchou why

it`s easier to strike someone down when they`re shrouded in mystery and with as few words exchanged between them as possible. his stare is cold, piercing, with coal-black eyes focusing in her direction, but not on her necessarily. no, there was something behind his gaze that suggested a detached calculation causing olivia to hesitate. her grip on her wooden sword turned her knuckles white. it may be harder to kill with a practice weapon, but with enough blunt trauma, she could see the light fading from his eyes within her head. the thought makes her stomach uneasy. how could this man look so composed when he`s so close to death?

she lifts her weapon and inhales sharply.