It does not occur to Bella to be disappointed with the reality of meeting her heroes. She has seen the tales of their exploits a hundred times across films and stage plays and in books surreptitiously read when she thought nobody was looking. Their accomplishments were above reproach. Nothing short of the proof of the true glory of Humanity and what they were supposed to be capable of; their flaws every bit as brilliant as their triumphs. 

So what that actors had always made them seem taller? More like... well. More like her? So what that in her wildest, most sinful dreams she'd seen Ikari with fluffy ears and a tail? So what that... so what? So what? They were each of them of a height with Redana. Of course they were. This is the stature of true heroes. It is monsters like Bella who need to tower over everything so that these peerless warriors could glitter and shine in even the dimmest lights. Redana's golden hair could be a beacon even in the murkiest corners of the [i]Anemoi[/i]. So it is with King Anjia, Sir Aeon, and Odysseus before all. 

This is what heroes look like. Smell like. Sound like. Talk like. They must have seemed healthier, once. Less sickly, with no death stench upon them before their legends caught up with them and they tumbled into the realm of Lord Hades. They would have seemed even more like Redana, then, in their primes. Or Redana would have seemed more like them. And someday she will. Would. Because for her, the journey would surely end up here eventually.

But for Bella...

"Princess."

She comes when she is called. Her nose wrinkles only a little at the smell all around her. Their little chest of treasures rattles along the floor on its pristine wheels as she pulls it behind her. Her footsteps clack and echo with the force of thunderbolts. Her teeth are sharper teeth, and no less blinding than Redana's when they flash briefly behind the pursing of her lips. 

Her fingers end in cruel daggers that even hanging at her sides seem to threaten the table in front of her. Her body has returned to its carefully engineered curves and softness, but it cannot hide the aura of raw power crackling underneath it. Not from these great warriors. She is a titan among them. A monster born on the altar of genetic miracles and the endless meddling of the biomancers. The final chapter of the story each of them had been telling. The very last form of the enemy they'd dedicated their lives to stopping.

Her arms wrap tenderly around Redana's shoulders. She squeezes softer than a summer breeze, and when she leans down to breathe the clean air that radiates off the princess her hair tumbles forward and wraps the pair of them in a silken blue-black halo that could have launched a thousand ships of its own, had she only been born into the days when such things were possible. 

The glittering past. The uncertain future. The empty seat among legends. And the assassin, defeated, proof of the invitation to the feast.

She dips into a bow. Still clutching her treasure. And still standing behind her afterward.

"[i]This[/i] counts as resembling working order? That empty, decaying scrapheap? I see." Bella's golden eye flits across the faces of every assembled knight, lingering on none of them in particular. All of them are heroes in her heart. None of them should be able to stand to look at her, "Mother was... right about me. I don't measure up to her older assassins at all. Not if that's the best I was able to do, stopping you."

Bitterness. Longing. Relief. This is the song she sings. Her claws gleam dangerously against the glistening skin she holds them up to so very tenderly.