Heiress in Distress

•Chapter 27•

• Word count: 1,930

"Have you lost your mind?!" I scream, stomping towards her.

She meets my violence with an infuriating degree of nonchalance.

"I could have choked on my own spit -I was yawning for God's sake!"

I could have died! I could have seriously died and Élise, who narrowly escaped orphanhood 9 months ago, would have fallen victim.
Although a faint sound at the backseat of my thoughts tells me Elias -and Clara of course- would never allow for that to happen.

My accusatory slash furious eyes involuntarily dart towards Elias, to be met with a blank expression.
He's not doing or saying anything, just merely standing there, as if the female brawl somehow entertains him.

She continues to smile that easy smile, folding her arms across her chest as if challenging me.

Challenge accepted, she-devil.

I don't pounce her immediately but rather narrow my eyes for a stretch, waiting for her to drop her guard down. My heart begins to thrash against my ribcage, preparing for an effort.
Soon enough, her shoulders relax slightly, loosing some of the stiffness, and that's where I come in.

My hands clamp on her shoulders and I reel my head back to deliver a nice, satisfying headbutt.

Unfortunately for me, she senses it and instead of ducking or attempting to avoid it, she catches me while I'm in the process of coming back from my reel, gaining the upper hand and head butting my brain out.

I hear the clash of our skulls before pain shoots from my nose towards the back of my head, squeezing the nerves behind my eye sockets and sending a trail of tears down my cheeks.

I grit my teeth against the pain, swallowing back the groan that I felt creeping up my throat.
My eyes, unwelcoming the blinding light that feeds the already gathering numbness, squeeze shut against the hammering pain that assaults my brain in heavy ripples.

A myriad of emotions wrap around my chest in a tight fist and for a second I feel like crying.
I'm not used to being defeated like this; I remember clearly how my father used to praise me during training sessions, finding pride in my never losing spars against females, and only sustaining minor injuries when sparring against males.

That's when I hear it. My father's voice calling me, telling me I should be thinking, not feeling.
I can hear him instructing me to shut all my emotions down and pretend pain doesn't exist, that my pain receptors are dampened.

He's standing somewhere around me, circling me and my opponent, but his words are meant for me. He stands to my right, at a distance, knees bent slightly as he leans forward and rests his hands on his knees.

"Use your senses, Lils. A great fighter utilises all their senses and allows their mind to puppeteer them. Try looking at your opponent closely, try looking into their aura; what do you see?"

Cordelia gained power and strength somewhere off battlefield. She looks to have gained expertise from real life experiences, and her fighting skills are just a reflection of endurance, if the small, concealed scars I glimpsed scattered across various areas of her body, every time an inch of skin is revealed.

"Now, try to smell their feeling; what do they feel right now ? Is it fear ? A thirst for bloodshed? A hunger for more ?
Move on to your hearing; try to focus on the motion of the wind around you -you and your opponent, I mean- try to catch the sound of the whooshing air before that uppercut is delivered,"

She brings her fist down on the centre of my abdomen, right where ribcage ends and digestive organs begin, but it hits my prepared forearm instead, for I anticipated the move before she made it.