[b]Marsail Cirsium[/b]

The Marsail Cirsium that left the locker room was not the Marsail Cirsium that entered.

In the short time that she had spent preparing herself for battle, the Cirsium heiress had undergone a [url=http://i.imgur.com/PeAdIo3.jpg]radical transformation[/url], her very appearance and demeanour having changed utterly since the night before. The grey woolen jumper had disappeared to parts unknown, its kindly warmth replaced entirely by a stiff, militaristic aura that was only cool professionalism. Her outfit was almost entirely black, ranging from her heeled, tough boots to her well-fitted pants to the gold-trimmed coat, its tail dangling shortly behind her. Her simple, reddish headband no longer rested upon her head, and in its place was a peaked cap of black and minute lines of violet, its colours a powerful contrast to Marsail's brightly coloured hair. Electric blue eyes, sizzling with intensity, watched everything around her in perfectly clarity, no longer trapped behind black-rimmed spectacles that had never held a true purpose.

Most prominently, however, was the wicked steel blade that rested against her black-covered shoulder. It was a weapon of relatively simple appearance, but its sheer size, coupled with the ease with which Marsail seemed to carry the sword, left none doubting of the dangers it could pose. It gleamed in the light, the sloping quillons of silver sparkling with every ray that broke through the clouds.

Her steps were powerful. Purposeful. Prideful.

Marsail Cirsium was here to become a Huntress.

To become a guardian of humanity itself.