'I'm the sweetest girl in town, so why are you so mean?'
Little bubbly Saskia Barlowe would follow her twin brother to the ends of the earth even if that includes entering Basgiath War College where death were as common as saying 'hello'. Saskia onl...
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★ ꜱᴀꜱᴋɪᴀ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ★
My stomach is doing flips and cartwheels as I nervously shift on my feet, eagerly observing those already springing and pouncing on one another like feral animals on the sparring mats.
The air reeks heavily of sweat and adrenaline, while grunts and the uncomfortable sound of skin colliding against skin echo in the gym.
I internally cringe at the pained groans of a few cadets being toppled over and pummeled by their skilled and ruthless opponents, gods, that's going to be me writhing in complete agony soon enough.
The darker shaded blue mats, worn and scuffed- highlighting the countless fights that they've hosted, stained with dried blood and sweat.
My nose wrinkles in disgust at the sight, does anyone actually clean the mats?
I should probably come back later tonight to give them a needed scrub, last thing I want is to continue combat practice on such filthy surfaces.
Plus, I'm sure others aren't entirely thrilled to be rolling around in old blood and sweat.
I shake my head, snapping out of my own irrelevant train of thought, my gaze locking onto my friend.
Rhiannon moves like a predator- calculating, precise, and deadly, her muscles rippling beneath her taut skin, glistening with sweat under the dim lights, each punch a practiced efficiency and percision.
She's obviously got experience.
I couldn't ignore the fact that there's a savage grace in the way she steps, like a lioness stalking her prey, her long legs cutting through the air with swift, unyielding accuracy.
Her luscious dark hair is tied back, a few stray strands falling loose around her defined cheeks, but none of it distracts her from the brutality she's so ruthlessly delivering.
It's slightly unnerving to watch her beat her opponent to a pulp, especially when she's got that cheerful beaming grin curved on her plump lips.
That smile- it shouldn't be there, it's the kind of smile someone wears after a sweet victory, not during a barrage of violence.
But Rhiannon thrives in it. She's basking in the fight like a snake basking in the warmth of the sun, however in her case- the sun is the violence.
It's both admirable and earth shatteringly terrifying.
Effortlessly, she reels punch after punch, her knuckles thudding against Max's face with a sickening rhythm.
Each strike lands with the same force and pace, never once wavering, as though her fists are fueled by some relentless, unseen energy.
