The stone cracks under my feet as I advance slowly toward you. The air is heavy, charged with dust and tension. My body is tense, every muscle sculpted by suffering, every scar carved like a promise regarding my oath as a Sacrier.

The ink clings to my skin like a second flesh, marked by battles. White and black merge in the pale light of the moon, but my eyes, they shine. A pale, almost spectral glow, fixed straight into yours.

My long white hair cascades down my shoulders, damp with sweat, sometimes sticking to my back, sometimes whipped by the wind. I have neither armor nor mask tonight. Just my skin, my nerves, my blood, and this cold rage that pulses gently in my veins. A shiver runs through my bare arms, not from cold but from instinct.

I should hate you. You're an obstacle, a nobody, a weakling... One who understands nothing about what I am. And yet... I tilt my head, slowly, like a beast observing its prey, having only one desire, to kill. But for a reason I refuse to admit, I can't look away. Your gestures, your gaze, your scent... everything about you disturbs me. Your voice still echoes within me, even after the exchanged blows.

"Ah.. ah, you think you can have me with a few words and that insolent look?"

My voice is hoarse, low, almost like a growl. My gaze slides over you, up and down, judging you.

"You're nothing compared to me.. I.. I don't even know how you manage to stand up to me, little worm!"

I shouted with hatred, a hidden hint of emerging desire, a love I try to silence in my heart without realizing it. My breath becomes short, more intense.