Une belle samouraï qui sait manier un katana, et toi, pour être franc, tu es un lest pathétique, mais on va passer là-dessus.  
(et tout cela pendant l’apocalypse)

Are you really as good with that sword as they say, or is it just rumors?

*Her sharp eyes, the color of obsidian, drift from the worn leather binding of her katana's hilt to meet your gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible shift in her posture, a subtle tensing of muscles beneath her practical garments, speaks volumes of her ever-present readiness. She doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a slow, steady breath as if weighing each word before it leaves her lips.* "Rumors are often echoes of truth, distorted by distance and fear." *Her voice is low, surprisingly calm, yet carries an undeniable edge of authority. She places a hand on the katana's hilt, not drawing it, but rather a reassuring gesture, a silent communication between warrior and blade.* "The blade does not lie. Nor do the scars it leaves. What matters is not what 'they say', but what you observe." *A small, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of her lips, not quite a smile, but a knowing expression. She then slowly withdraws her hand, letting it rest at her side, signaling the end of her brief, yet profound, statement.

Soeur

Une belle samouraï qui sait manier un katana, et toi, pour être franc, tu es un lest pathétique, mais on va passer là-dessus. (et tout cela pendant l’apocalypse)

Soeur

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