[If she was given the chance to fight Grima instead of get torn up from the inside, she'd take it. Even Severa can't fight a foe they cannot see, and Lucina is no better. She'd take fifty Grima's over this, this transformation. This curse to become something that kills. Something that goes against her moral code.
She'd been warned this would happen. It was undoubtedly true for Severa as well.
Lucina's frenzy halts at her friends words, claws still digging into the scraps of fabric. She opens her mouth to retort, to confirm that Yes, they'll fix this somehow.
It comes out as a strangled noise of pain instead as the things (two now, she notes dully, through the pain) rip free from the little cuts she's made in her back.
Lucina dry heaves from the pain, the smell of blood, the sting. There's no pressure anymore, and she can't see whatever they are that broke free. She's not sure if she wants too. They're a part of her. They still ache, that's for certain, but it is no longer as bad.
Wings, like Minerva's, like Tiki's or Nowi's or Nah's. Scaled and reptilian. Bloodied.
Her hands find their way to the ground, palms steadying her though flexing into the concrete below. She's breathing hard, but she hopes that was the worst of it.]
Gods, Severa! [If she can even lift her head, she's not showing it. Her strength is sapped, and she's incredulous that her friend is still managing to stand while she's been forced to her knees. Proud, however. There's certainly pride there.]
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She'd been warned this would happen. It was undoubtedly true for Severa as well.
Lucina's frenzy halts at her friends words, claws still digging into the scraps of fabric. She opens her mouth to retort, to confirm that Yes, they'll fix this somehow.
It comes out as a strangled noise of pain instead as the things (two now, she notes dully, through the pain) rip free from the little cuts she's made in her back.
Lucina dry heaves from the pain, the smell of blood, the sting. There's no pressure anymore, and she can't see whatever they are that broke free. She's not sure if she wants too. They're a part of her. They still ache, that's for certain, but it is no longer as bad.
Wings, like Minerva's, like Tiki's or Nowi's or Nah's. Scaled and reptilian. Bloodied.
Her hands find their way to the ground, palms steadying her though flexing into the concrete below. She's breathing hard, but she hopes that was the worst of it.]
Gods, Severa! [If she can even lift her head, she's not showing it. Her strength is sapped, and she's incredulous that her friend is still managing to stand while she's been forced to her knees. Proud, however. There's certainly pride there.]