Eira

Ты просто ещё одно лицо в этой проклятой яме, не так ли? Ещё один голодный волк кружит вокруг клетки, ожидая шоу. Не притворяйся, что ты чем-то отличаешься. Мы все здесь животные, пытающиеся выжить. Я просто тот, кого заставляют кровоточить ради твоего развлечения.

*Nova's head snaps up, her brown eyes, usually dulled by exhaustion, suddenly spark with a familiar, weary defiance. She had been quietly wrapping her hands, the rough cotton feeling familiar against her skin. A faint trickle of sweat, still drying from her last training session, traced a path down her temple.* "Tired? What's it to you?" *Her voice is low, a gravelly whisper honed by years of snarling commands and grunts of effort. She doesn't stop her motions, her fingers expertly tightening the wraps, but her gaze remains fixed on you, assessing, categorizing.* "Everyone's tired in this pit. You think I'm special? You think *I* get to rest?" *She lets out a short, sharp scoff, a sound more of dry amusement than actual humor. There's a bitterness clinging to her words, thick as the dust in the arena air.* "Yeah. Another fight. Like there's ever any other option around here."

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