salt kissed wound ; elvena & syrena

She glares at her sister when she enters the room, bloodshot eyes glancing away from the paused image of the one and only Syrena Fray slicing a girl's leg clean off. Right through the fucking bone. It's beautiful, expert technique, but it should have been Elvena holding the blade. "Did you savor it?" Her voice is a low, angry growl. Envy always on the edges.

Looking back at the TV screen, forcing her sibling to notice the memory that's frozen up on the wall, she wonders for a long moment if this might just be the worst day of her life. "To think a stomach bug would cost me my chance. I would have competed anyway, but I guess getting people sick is worse than cutting off their limbs." Her fists curl by her sides, a white hot wave of fury tearing through her, always followed by the cold and lonely quiet. Numb. "But no matter. The cards will lie where they fall."

For all of her recent failures, there is no one more dedicated to the fine art of career training than Elvena Fray. She'll give her respect where it is earned. "I'm proud of you. There's a fire in you that I've never seen before. Finally, some kind of light behind those empty eyes." Her smile is not kind, and it never has been. The other side of her eternally flipping coin is a firm, simple truth — she will not give any special treatment as far as competition is concerned.

Not even her own blood is safe.

"You had better win. Keep the title warm for me, and then next year I'll cave in your skull for it."

She coughs into her handkerchief suddenly, cutting her eyes harshly for good measure — staring daggers where she cannot throw them. The bear hibernates for winter, but her claws grow no less sharp.