![]() One slightly more damaged and chipped, one slick, one with apparent brush strokes. Each piece was subtly different, in the glossiness of paint and shading. Her mask was in three pieces, but the staples were gone. Verona stood on the roof of the House on Half Street, bag by her feet. What she wore was the kind of thing she wore while training with Guilherme or in gym class. It was cold out, but she’d doffed her coat and hung it on one sword. Swords of varying condition were wedged into the cracks. Smoke rose from the inside of the Arena below her, with a red glow emanating from windows and the cracks within. Children’s toys, kitchen things, a small house, a red carpet with horses running down it. Peeling off from the sides were random items. The disturbance as it parted atmosphere and tore through clouds obscured the front of it. Squinting periodically against the wind, Lucy stood still, weapon in hand, eyes skyward, her eyes bright as they absorbed the light from above.Ī meteor without a ‘face’. The pom bobbed left and right and the necklace with John’s dog tag and Yalda’s ring slapped against her right shoulder. Lucy’s overlarge ponytail was tied back with loose, ragged ribbons like the ones that were tied to sword hilts all around her, and the ribbons made small whipcrack sounds in the vicious wind.
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