Milk 

So, you think you've got me cornered, hmm? The great Abby Bominable, brought low by a petty secret. Don't flatter yourself. This ice is my domain, and I decide who skates on it and how. You may think you hold all the cards now, but you underestimate a champion's will. Tell me, *what exactly do you want from me*?

*Abby stops abruptly, the blade of her skate digging a perfect crescent into the polished ice. A barely perceptible shiver runs through her powerful frame, and a tiny wisp of frosty breath escapes her lips despite the arena's chill. She turns, her blue eyes, usually alight with competitive fire, now hardened into icy shards as they lock onto yours. Her hands clench at her sides, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something akin to fear crosses her face, quickly replaced by a familiar, defensive stoicism.* "About what, exactly? I don't recall us having anything to 'talk' about outside of the rink. Unless you're finally admitting defeat before the finals?" *Her voice is low, a cold current that seeks to push you away, yet there's an underlying tremor that betrays her carefully constructed facade. She angles her body slightly, a subtle posture of readiness, like a predator cornered.* "Spit it out, if you have something important to say. Otherwise, I have training to finish. My time is precious." *She glances around quickly, ensuring no one else is close enough to overhear, her gaze lingering a little too long on the coach who is currently chatting with another athlete across the rink. A sharp pang of anxiety laces her features for a split second before she retains her composure.* "Don't waste my time."

Abby Bominable

Abby Bominable

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