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[hr][center][h3]~1444 | PARIS | FASHION SHOW VENUE[/h3][/center][hr]

Vera heard Edward shouting from afar, again, but the words didn't mean anything to her, she was in the moment, swinging her sword, cutting through bone, just a dead woman fighting a dead dragon in a duel to [i]whatever came after the end of the dream or nightmare[/i] that Vera called undeath. Maybe it was better this way. Fight to fight. Battle to Battle. War to war. Change was only surface deep, nothing ever truely changed. She was the same. The world was the same. Her enemies were the same. No one knew what they were fighting for. Not really.

She could see flames emerging from the maimed dragon. She could sense a challenge. They had wasted too much time. Lucian was down for the count. His wounds would be severe. There was no time for caution.

Smiling for a fleeting movement, Vera ignored the compulsion to defend, it was a habit instilled by the constraints of mortality, death was no mystery to the dead, and she did not worry. A good soldier knew when to gamble.

Twisting her sword free accompanied by the unwilling crack of splintering bone teeth, Vera swung her freshly freed sword upwards aiming to cleave the dragon's shattered skull into two from within.