Toma's nails cut through Cill's garb like a warm knife gliding through butter. Grazing her skin, they remained just a spectre away from cutting her open, but the control of the Mediora on its body ensured that not even a hair on her body was touched before it was time to kill her.
"And so," wrapping its fingers around her neck, it spoke in a whisper and with a jumble of two voices. "Why are you fabricating a failed paper? A personal vendetta with the boy? Or did you want to elope with him? You should've just asked as the others do, maybe I would've allowed you to have him as your reward for coming up with such brilliant ideas."
"N-no, sage… I wanted to sell the Glintsmith's name as a family of saviors and to meet with the boy–" A sharp finger pressed against her lips cut her words short.
