Lydia’s eyes narrowed at him. He called for her to be thoughtful and quiet. She glanced at the sword in her hand and it seemed to vibrate with life, making her clutch it tighter. He tossed his blade carelessly into the abandoned building and she cried out as if he had tossed a child into the fire.<br/><br/>She circled him, stalked him with the weight of the sword arousing a lust for battle in the pit of her stomach. Lydia craved an excuse to use the weapon, not, in her mind at least, for mischief or mayhem but simply to feel the sword singing in her fingers. His arms were outspread as if he might need to catch her should she dart around him.<br/><br/>“I don’t want to toss this blade into the fire,” she pouted as she continued to watch for an opening, sword out aggressively. Her tongue swiped her upper lip and she feinted toward him. His eyes seemed to catch the reflection of the fire and for a split second she caught a glimpse of her own face. Lydia blinked as if coming back from a trance.<br/><br/>Frowning, she stood up straight, examining the weapon in her hand.<br/><br/>“Shenyo.” She said with a quiet, tremulous voice. “Something is wrong. I cannot open my hand. My fingers are affixed to the pommel.”<br/><br/>Blinking, Lydia began to try to pry her fingers loose and one by one, she pulled away from the hilt. Horror lit her face as she realized that this was charged with dark magik. Focusing, she produced fire in the hand that was held captive by the strange sword and it clattered to the ground by her feet. With the intent of placing it in the fire, she bent to retrieve it, but to her amazement, it lifted in the air and launched itself at Shenyo.<br/><br/><br/><br/>