"Oh, sorry, you wanted [i]respect?[/i] Why didn't you say so?"

She scoops the bow with the very tip of the sword and watches it slice blue lines in the air. She's pretty sure it shouldn't do that, but she still accepts the momentum gratefully, lets it spin her around and forwards.

"All hail King Misery, lord of his bucket of crabs!

"Praise the father of all, who was so good at creation that all of his children hate him! 

"Look at how much suffering he did! Look at how well he fits someone else's mold! Wow, this asshole can be abused [i]so much![/i]

"Fuck that, fuck you, and [i]fuck[/i] your society!"

She bats aside arrows that should carve her from existence, but here, in this space, all is possible.

"Suffering doesn't make you noble! Fitting into a mold doesn't make you virtuous! You suffered, were abused, and did [i]zero contemplation![/i] You could have been kind, promised others would not suffer as you had, but instead you waited eagerly for the day that you got to be the one holding the belt!

"You're not [i]worthy[/i] of my respect! You're [i]pathetic![/i]"

She's a sword-tipped comet trailing a swarm of broken arrows, a meteor with a point.

"You want respect? [i]Earn it[/i] by being [i]kind![/i]"