. . .
"The worst moments in life are heralded by small observations."
—Andy Weir
. . .
A decade ago, following Proserpina's stay in the underworld as a newly turned immortal goddess, the two of them used to spar on the abandoned clearing not too far from the Kashima's residence, away from prying eyes.
This was supposedly training.
Both of them had been taught the basics of self-defense ever since they have started school by their dad but after their... captivity (no thanks to that shitty bloodsucker), William was a bit behind so it was unanimously decided that he should continue learning how to fend for himself.
Or in other words: Winters gets a perfectly legitimate excuse to beat her little brother up in broad daylight and William Veil is the poor, unfortunate soul assigned as her glorified human punching bag.
It goes without saying that his sister's fighting style has always been swift and efficient whether William was simply watching or going against her, weaponless or not, as she moved in a seemingly deadly dance; serenity and brutality wrapped into one.
Where every breath counts.
Every single step calculated.
William had always thought of his sister to be somewhat meticulous even before she became a goddess, but here and now... he couldn't help but think there was some sort of predatory elegance with the way she fought.
They had started off slow, the two of them circling one another and patiently waiting for the other to do the first move, feeling for weaknesses, for an opening... although William couldn't somehow help but feel like a cornered animal with the way she looks at him, her gaze too focused, heavy with seemingly murderous intent despite the deceptively lax air she exuded, as if to lull him into a false sense of security.
And then, as if sensing that he was hesitating for far too long, Winters suddenly charged forward at the next second, her movements a frightening blur of black, more shadow than flesh and blood.
William twists out of the way.
It was only thanks to his ingrained reflexes of being her sparring partner for so long that gave him the initiative to wisely sidestep into a half-twirl instead of meeting her head on, tipping his head a few inches backwards when her elbow suddenly came gunning for the side of his head as he moved, nearly clipping his chin in the process had he been seconds too late.
William briefly wonders to himself if it's not that Winters has become too quick, but that everything else is moving a bit too slow around them for her.
If this is what her eyes could see far within the depths of shadows, deep within her domain of darkness where she is to reign; a world where time and light ceases to exists, and she has to patiently wait always wait for it to be safe for her little brother before she allows herself to move instead of leaving him behind like a useless, lump of flesh.
The funny thing is, William does feel like that useless, lump of flesh that Roman liked to dub him as when their eyes met while he stumbles but quickly regains his footing.
When Winters waits for him long enough to be ready on his feet instead of taking him down there and then once more, minding her strength and pulling her punches, giving him a fighting chance to hit her very nearly on the face when she suddenly comes too close, all the while prolonging their spar and letting him think he even has a ghost of a chance in winning.
