"I deserved that," said Canada Taliv.

Even crumpled on the ground she looks magnificent; a shadowy prince, all angles and bones as fine as china. She wears her veils obediently, dark and concealing - and in her crumpled fall, the revealed glimpses of her journal of scars tells the story as to why. There's a masculine handsomeness to her disarray, glimpses of muscles like wires, a provocation to embrace. 

She believes what she says. Believes it enough to drown the primordial instinct to defend herself. She detaches herself in a swirl of fabric from the ground and now she's above Asterion again, and her neck curves smoothly so they're at eye level - to make it easier if the Bull wants to hit her again.

"But you're wrong," said Canada, violet eyes all that's visible behind her shrouds, so deep and dark they're almost black. "I'm not smarter than [i]anything[/i]."

Do it. Hit her again. 

[Rejecting Asterion's influence: 10
- Acting to prove her wrong and marking potential
- Shifting saviour up and superior down]