She observes the sword in her hand with curiosity. Her head tilts as she lifts it up and turns it about in what dim light filters through the rain. How strange. She thrusts it through the air with a dull whistle. Unsatisfying. She pulls it closer to her face; the itch is building, burning. Insistent. Unignorable. 

She puts claw to blade, and slides it up and down the length of the sword. Ahhhhh, these screams. XIII shivers with pleasure, and her tail twitches in anticipation. The release of tension. Delicious. She closes her hand around the edge of the weapon, and with a last sigh it snaps into pieces that fall around her feet like glittering treasures. The name burns into her spine, drawing a howl from her lips.

"Va... Si... La..."

It was not a bad plan, for the record. You were brave enough to call her attention to you, and wise enough to realize that a quip and a concealed pistol would not do for dueling's sake. With the rain obscuring your scent and the flock of Kaeri obscuring your motion, you could have been a shadow. A person could hide forever in a field she wasn't permitted to thresh. And if you'd used these tactics on Bella, they would have worked to perfection. Stupid Bella, prideful Bella, broken Bella... an incomplete creature pawing uselessly at the light. 

But you are hunted. You are marked by a creature with no world outside of the names carved into her skin. XIII reaches an empty hand toward you, across the empty chasm between you and the field of blooming flowers. You can't help but blink your eyes as you scrabble to your feet, and in that single instant you are caught. Her fingers squeeze the stormy air. Her claws bite into the distance between you. Her fingers squeeze your throat like ripe fruit. Her claws dig into your skin, drawing five tiny rivulets of blood to stain your shirt and collar. 

She lifts you into the air as easily as she would a child, and slams you down into the muck hard enough to crater the wet sand around you. Sword broken, back aching, lying in the muck. Is this starting to feel familiar? The Diodekoi drops on top of you and squeezes your ribs between her thighs. Her hand keeps clenched about your throat the entire time. The bulky armor obscures her form, but it smells like her. You know. You've been in this position once before. The wet, blue-black braid that slides around her neck and into your face is clumsier than that pretentious so-called "Praetor" would ever have permitted, but even so. Even so, it's such a specific color. The pressure of her legs is familiar. It is awful. You can feel your bones shuddering in protest, and she squeezes tighter still. 

You'll never forget the feeling of that moment, that day. There were bonsai then, too. It hurt then, too. You can never, ever forget the sight of that white tail whipping behind her. Her eyes, barely visible through her mask, match now. They are not the eyes that you remember. They are milky, cloudy silver, stained with flecks of angry red throughout. But it's her. It's her. You know for an absolute fact that it's her. 

"Va. Si. La." she hisses, and her voice is strained and tinny, with a horrible echo that does not come from her mask

She doesn't bend down to kiss you this time. Her hand clenches tighter around your throat, until your vision starts to blur around the edges. You can watch her lift a hand with five perfect, wicked claws above you. An offering. A sacrifice. This is how you die. She's the one that kills you.

...Except. You're not alone this time, are you?