clemencia ’mercy’ isolde calavera borgin. ❝ nothing ever ends poetically. it ends and we turn it into poetry. all that blood was never once beautiful; it was just red. ❞ seventh year, gryffindor, pureblood, seventeen
open starter: for hogwarts students
location: great hall
date: march 1st, just before dinner.
the brightness of ariadne’s smile seemed to fall in deep contrast to the more sombre air in the atmosphere of hogwarts as of late. in reality, it was because ariadne knew she personally had very little to be scared of as long as she kept playing her cards right, but to everyone else, her smile should be a constant. even when she fell off her broom into the great lake the radiant grin didn’t shift one inch, and if she didn’t flinch then, flinching now could give everything away.
such smile was the most notable thing about her as she almost jumped on the only open seat she could find / desperate for some kind of human connection after spending almost all day helping madam pince tidy the library ( after being caught trying to take several books out in her bag ).
❝ you want some fizzing gobstoppers? ❞ she hoped the offer of sweets would stop the person whose space she probably collided into from complaining, ❝ i want to try and clear out my stash before easter, you know ? it’s like .. godric this term is moving so fast ! oh, you weren’t saving this seat for someone, where you ? ❞ she ends her sentence with soft puppy dog eyes and a hopeful smile, trying to twist empathy round her little finger.
“ I was saving that seat for someone, actually, “ mercy said, half-assing an apologetic smile to accompany her words as she leafed through the evening edition of the prophet. she wasn’t --- or rather, she supposed she usually expected to sit near people she wanted to. it wasn’t something she had to work to save when it just happened. but ariadne didn’t need to know that she didn’t actually care. mercy just lived in a constant state of feigning care over things that didn’t matter and feigning a lack of care over things that did. she saw no point in being honest with her. “ but it’s okay. you can sit there if you want to, ariadne. “
she took a few more moments to finish the article she was on ( some benign thing about one of the montrose magpies’ players, really? was this whole world obsessed with sports? ) before finally setting her paper aside to look at the person she was speaking with.
“ honestly, and not to be argumentative, “ it was to be argumentative; for fun, to add something to a conversation that seemed destined to stall out. “ --- I feel like this term is moving so slow, “ she said, the apology slipping from her smile just before the smile slipped off her face. “ it’s like easter won’t be here for another year at the rate time is moving, you know? so no rush on those gobstoppers, though thanks so much for offering. I’ve never really liked them. too much fizz. “
“ EXACTLY! it would have been beautiful chaos. ” his grin was wide, nearly painful in all the joy it carried. music loud, sweat dampening his hair, swaying people constantly bumping against him - that is how he wished to remember his youth. damn the fighting and the sides, and failed classes, the times his heart was broken, how many he shattered, the things he wasn’t accepted into, every night he’d hidden pain underneath a pillow until he fell asleep. his youth was LOUD, damp, stinking of vodka and aching with scratched throats. if theodore could encapsulate moments in one sample, to relive over and over, and place over his tongue like a mysterious pill, that would be one of them. a quick fix of rush and unabashed happiness, alcohol fogging the thought of any concern. he followed closely behind mercy, taking advantage of the path she’d carved, sporadically holding onto one of her arms to not lose her amongst the crowd. “ we can have all the refills. the whiskey with the green label is from my mum’s liquor cabinet, ya know? hardest shit ever. let’s just get pissed, then. ” he wasn’t certain all words could be heard over the chattering and the music, but he yelled it out anyway. mercy paused far too abruptly for the number of drinks the boy had in him, so he stumbled to not fall over her, ending up very close to mercy. his grin had diminished into a more comfortable place, but still stick to his lips, especially after her question. “ you’re mercy fucking borgin. if there isn’t a possibility, you make one. ” endless possibilities. the entitlement they’d both grown up with was glaringly obvious, and theo didn’t even give it a second thought. “ we can do whatever the hell we want. ” power, hedonism, recklessness. whatever it was, it consumed him, he’d bet it consumed her, and he didn’t mind it one bit. “ plus, this is my fucking house! if we want space, we make some bloody space!” chuckles fell out of his lips as theodore snuggled his arm with mercy’s, guiding them himself.
“ beautiful chaos is worthwhile chaos, I’ve always said, “ mercy said, parroting a phrase she’d never once said in her life. “ and worthwhile chaos certainly isn’t how I’d describe the current state of hogwarts quidditch. one team loses and another wins? and? let’s shake things up already. “ she paused and thought back on what had just come out of her mouth. they’d reached the point in the evening when she was over the forethought and care she normally put into her words. but she could still recall them accurately enough if she cared to. ( they’d reached the point in the evening when she didn’t think she cared to. )
so she grinned at theo, done thinking --- maybe for the rest of the night, maybe not. wouldn’t it be nice to give her mind a rest? she felt, with sudden clarity, that everything was too much too often. at least at a party, it felt like the good kind of ‘too much too often.’ she grinned harder and let the smile turn itself into a laugh, bubbling a little unheard in the noise of the room around them. “ god. okay, first order of business is we find your mum’s whiskey and then, like, hoard it. no one else should get it but us and anyone you chose to bless with your leniency, in the form of a shot. “ had she stopped walking suddenly? it was hard to remember why a literal pause for emphasis had been necessary, but that was fine. no-one needed to dwell on the fact that she stumbled a little when theo stumbled. after all, now he was leading them onward into the party, and she trusted theo to lead as much as he’d trusted her. she leaned into his arm, too, glad that they were on the same page now as tomorrow as always. mercy tore her gaze from theo to survey the party with her eyes gleaming and another peal of laughter chasing words right out of her mouth. “ you get it. obviously. I’m mercy fucking borgin and you’re theo fucking burke. isn’t it ... practically owed to us to get to make space if we want it? and keep the green-label whiskey for ourselves if we want it? we could do both at the same time and no-one could stop us. “ it was an oversimplification she was happy to make. outside the castle there were plenty of things stopping them from getting what they were owed ( from getting mercy what she was owed ) but in it, she felt invincible. “ if it’s possible to win a party, we’re totally going to win this party. and commentary on that would be way more fascinating than any match commentary from earlier. “
where: death eaters’ general meeting (where the main lot just found out abt lily)
when: sunday, february 25th
who: open to student de
Genie was thriving. She’d been tickled pink about the whole thing—-what an excellent plan of Gemma’s, honestly, but who was surprised?—-and had greatly enjoyed being able to cause havoc and run interference last night against those headless chickens that called themselves MA members—-honestly, Genie thought scornfully, McGonagall had been a senile old bat but even she knew how to run an organisation better than these righteous walking temper tantrums—-but she was especially interested in this particular moment: now that the whole group had been informed, Genie’s eyes were roving the amassed crowd, scanning for reactions. Enthusiasm, weakness, discomfort—-anything, because as Wes had always taught her, every little thing you caught was another thing to be able to use and weaponise.
“So,” she said casually, sidling up to someone and flicking two fingers at the person nearest them to scatter so Genie could take their spot, “Who do you think’s going to burst into tears first? My bet’s on the halfbreed—-either, really, they’re practically interchangeable at this point, so desperate, poor things—-though I guess it’s not really their fault that they can’t control their impulses, what with them being less… civilised than us.”
mercy screwed her face up as if in thought --- like she needed lots of pure focus to mull over all possible answers to the question. the truth was that she didn’t much care who cried first. she would never claim to be a saint, perish the thought, but the topic seemed a trite thing to waste her precious time on.
tears, she believed, were only important when she’d been directly responsible for them ... in some way or another. but mercy was a fine actress and an even better pretender ( she felt the difference was important and hard to describe ) so knew her expression would sell her story. that she was half putting serious thought into genie’s question. half gleeful and giddy at all the options the question presented. “ it’s too easy to say I think they’ll all be blubbering too much to put a finger on the first, “ she gushed. mercy angled her body to genie’s and cocked her head towards the other girl. the meeting around them was abuzz in all sorts of things. she couldn’t pinpoint the most common thread of conversation, the most shared emotion. but she could see genie’s attitude --- at least, the attitude she allowed mercy to see. and it was easy to match that. mercy could be something for genie to bounce her energy off of; that’s how ties were forged, how bonds were made. a girl had just been kidnapped but that was never going to be the sort of thing that mattered to mercy. “ too easy, but, c’mon, how wrong could I be there? there’s just too many fun possibilities for me to pick one. or even two. “
“ anytime. did i ever you how i asked to be the commentator and like, they just asked the name of some basic pass ? ” the toast caught him off guard but he managed to keep his cup straight enough not to spill. as soon as it was over, he took a long gulp from it. “ i’d have given a much more generally-appealing commentary if they’d given me the position. ” that rejection had been quicker than the tryouts for the quidditch team itself. his eyes searched for wherever the sound was coming from, with little avail given how many people were packed into one narrow tower, blocking all view. “ cunning observation. guess i’ll let it slide just this once. ” his soft chuckles were interrupted by yet another sip on his drink, followed by the rather look he gave the girl. “ ya know what ? this is some bullshit. ” theo turned towards her and put his free hand on her elbow, “ final year. unless i fail my newts, i guess. we’ve got months until this thing is over or until we all get blown up or something. like, we’re not gonna stay here in a corner talking shit about mcsomethin’ ! ” turning his cup all the way through, with a few frantic drops slipping out of the route, he finished the drink with a wince, “ refills. and then you can, i don’t know, twirl me around a bit to the sound of this crap. yeah ? ” the final months of them as young and careless ( although, granted, he knew that she especially hadn’t been that ay for far longer ), the final months of them as the children of borgins and burke, and nothing else, nothing more. there was something deeply symbolic and sentimental about them having started literally every journey of their lives together, and now being so close to the finish line - the altered state of his mind could focus on nothing but that in that moment.
“ why should you need to know the name of those things? “ mercy cocked her head and lifted the lilt of her voice, letting it carry as much as anyone’s could during a raucous party. “ the bookish second year whose friends dragged them to the game won’t care if you use the proper name for a wriggly-who’s feint-y pass, or whatever, as long as they can tell that their team didn’t score. “ she paused and took a sip of her own drinking, mulling over the possibility of theo as an announcer. “ who even needs the players’ names? honestly, they’d have saved so much fuss just letting you take the reins on that one. “ mercy watched with clear amusement as theo denounced the current thread of conversation and, not one to be outdone --- quickly upturned the contents of her cup into her mouth. it was easier than trying to transport a half-full cup. her grin stretched wide; she felt, inexplicably, as carefree as she ever did. something about theo’s mood was infectious, though she wondered if it wasn’t just easy for them to egg each other into high spirits. if it wasn’t just the mood of the party, the heady confusion and awful layered noises making it easy to slip into the skin of a girl with fewer worries. she kept a loose grip on her cup and used the arm wielding it ( pointy elbows worked wonders if you didn’t care about the people you left in your wake ) to cut a path for the two of them to where she remembered the drinks being. “ refills! definitely a must. I don’t even know if there’s enough room for twirling --- “ that she was shouting and having to cut their way through the crowd said perhaps there was not. oh well. “ --- so we might as well double down on the refills just in case. but hey! then we won’t have to pretend there’s a rhythm to this music. or maybe it’ll have changed, and we can force some twirling space. “ she paused and glanced back at him, a veil of false seriousness slipping over her eyes. “ there’s endless possibilities, right? “
“ yeah, yeah, mcsomethin’ went swoop and o’nieorilley-oh did a romenia pass. all rather interesting, go blue, “ theodore approached with little regard for the ongoing conversation - quidditch, quidditch, quidditch. that was all these people seemed to talk about. how dull, how typical. he’d cared for quidditch for aproximately ten minutes when he tried and failed to get into the team and thus, it was no longer a valid topic. “ but what the FUCK are we listening to and who’s in charge of this ? whose granny brought this ? did mcgonagall come back from the dead and pick the soundtrack ? “ half of the drink on his cup overflowed with his movement as he swayed around to the self-declared audible disaster.
“ thanks so much for the play by play, “ mercy drawled, general indifference toward the game in general and today’s match especially plain to anyone listening. she lightly tapped the side of her cup against his while doing her best to avoid its contents splashing down the side --- a light kind of toast, as if she were actually thanking him. she hadn’t been paying attention to the people around her or their conversation, and she didn’t think she needed much more information than he’d arrived with. “ mcsomethin’ sure was killer. but I think maybe they’re the one controlling the music. “ she tsked and hid faux - disapproval into her cup, lips curving into an innocent smile once she’d finished her generous sip. “ let all that swooping nonsense get to their head until they couldn’t really hear the stuff they’re pumping out into the party. such a shame. “
“sorry—-” annette gave the other a small smile, “maybe you wouldn’t, but i’ve learned to be on guard. do you know how hard it is to keep presents a secret from my family? i swear some of them have got a sixth sense for it or something.” she shook her head, stuffing the list int her bag, for now, “um, so, anyway, do you have any valentine’s day plans?”
“ no, I totally get it, “ she said, face still propped up in one hand so she could look straight on at annette. “ I have a ton of siblings. it can really be a blessing and a curse sometimes, right? “ it was usually more curse than blessing; but mercy figured there was no need to take out the and in casual conversation. “ but I’ve never exchanged valentine’s gifts with them, “ she amended, letting her hand drop with a small shrug. her voice drifted away from innocent curiosity and into a glumness she did not feel. “ maybe since I’m not very big on the holiday --- I don’t have any plans. “ she looked at annette from under curled lashes. “ do you? “
Despite the dark turn things had taken at the beginning of the year, Annette could not help but wake up that morning feeling a sort of cheerfulness—a sort of excitement—she hadn’t felt in quite some time. Valentine’s day was her favorite holiday of the whole year, and now that it was only ten days away, the countdown was on—and there was still so much she needed to do!
So she sat in the great hall that afternoon, lunch abandoned and pushed to the side, working diligently on the list in front of her; a list of everyone she needed to get a valentine’s gift for, along with some ideas of what to get them. Suddenly, a shadow was cast over his list, and she quickly covered the words she’d written, “Hey! No peeking!”
“ hey, now, “ mercy said, a sloping shrug punctuating her words as she moved around to sit on annette’s other side. she hadn’t caught much of a peek at what the other gryffindor was working on and she didn’t much care to --- the casualness with which she reached to fill her plate wasn’t feigned. but sometimes it was fun to exaggerate what was real; stretch her innocent tone until the truth of it seemed very feigned indeed.
mercy took a sip of water and let her gaze almost obviously wander back into annette’s space and whatever it was she was working on. no, mercy hadn’t been peeking. but she couldn’t deny that now annette had snagged her interest. “ I would never, “ she finished a beat too late. her graceful fingers easily set her cup down before she let her elbow rest on the table and her head rest on that palm in turn. she focused her attention on annette, let curiosity drip into her easy tone, and said, “ I’d never peek without permission, I swear. “
❝ nothing ever ends poetically. it ends and we turn it into poetry.
all that blood was never once beautiful. it was just red. ❞
VICTORIA JUSTICE? No, that’s actually MERCY BORGIN. A SEVENTH YEAR student, this GRYFFINDOR student is sided with THE DEATH EATERS. SHE identifies as A CIS-WOMAN and is a PUREBLOOD who is known to be DECEITFUL, BORED, and NARCISSISTIC but also REALISTIC, DYNAMIC, and ADAPTIVE. { ZOE, TWENTY, CST, SHE/HER } ------ pinterest. playlist. stats.
mercy was born clemencia isolde calavera borgin --- all those syllables deeply embedded in the unwritten contract of her parents’ political marriage. she grew up using the whole of them in equal, confusing measure; summers spent in mexico feeling like clemencia calavera. winters in wales feeling like isolde borgin. at age eight she’d had enough: people would call her mercy or nothing at all, and so mercy it was.
the calavera line of purebloods were long entrenched in the magical history of puerto rico, and mercy grew up hearing wondrous tales of the world where her mother spent her childhood running wild.
the trips to bioluminescent beaches filled with tiny mermaids, for wizards who knew to look for them. small islands seemingly filled with her extended family, practicing native magic wildly with no fear of muggles seeing, tending to their animals with love. visits to the cities, watching household magic spill out of the windows of colorful houses seemingly without care. festivals spent dancing with her cousins, sparks shooting out of their fingertips in time with the music.
it seemed being a wealthy, beloved pureblood daughter in that world was better than being anything else, anywhere else.
the stories were told to mercy and her siblings as often as the children asked to hear them; and it was an unspoken rule for them not to ask why their mother left puerto rico.
mercy broke the unspoken rule and asked, once --- when she was thirteen and already entrenched in her life at hogwarts.
why, if her mother seemed to love the puerto rico of her home, did they spend summers with her mother’s family in mexico? and, well. it turned out mercy’s puerto rican grandparents had been involved with more shady dealings than mercy’s mother had ever cared to admit. mexico was simply an easier point of contact with their international allies. when araceli was around thirteen herself, she was pulled from her beloved home. forced, for the first time, to deal with the wizarding world outside her backyard.
mercy could relate, in a way. both in how it felt to realize your parents were involved in a dark world ... and in how it felt to give into the darkness. because mercy knew. as wistfully as her mother looked back on her girlhood in puerto rico, the woman had become just as integral to her family’s dealings as mercy was going to become to hers.
when araceli calavera was eighteen, she was allowed to join her parents in their business meetings. she was their oldest child, their pride and joy, and their chance at a profitable alliance. late in her eighteenth year, the borgins came to mexico on the hunt for new items to sell, new vendors to sell from; it was a given that they would meet with the calaveras. their son, llewelyn borgin, was two years older than araceli --- and it was so easy. the families’ two children finished that visit with a betrothal tying them together and a fine dusting of artful contempt.
araceli was given a dozen expensive engagement gifts in the months between the betrothal and the wedding. llewelyn was given a dozen handy contacts from araceli’s family. it was perfect. it didn’t matter if the two cared for each other.
it was clear to all the marriage of llewelyn borgin and araceli calavera was never for love. mercy was born the favorite to a mother who had never had any desire for the trappings of her life as a borgin woman; not when she’d had everything it promised when she was a calavera, in a far prettier place than wales, with far more respect placed upon her shoulders. the only things she enjoyed from her second uprooting were her children.
mercy thrived under the attention, as she thrived everywhere. she was the firstborn girl just like her mother, and as the years went on it was clear she was the most spirited of the whole bunch of calavera borgins. her role as the beloved never waned; there was a reason she’d been allowed to ask about her mother’s history.
( after all, firstborn girl did not mean firstborn child. )
her father loved the wildness that had been with mercy from the very start, and branded her a favorite, too. it was one thing her parents agreed on.
without a second thought for propriety, llewelyn named mercy his successor over her older brother. a shock rang round the world, but to mercy, there was simply no other outcome. why wouldn’t she be the one set to inherit the earth? why shouldn’t she?
there was never any worry that what had happened to her brother would happen to her.
her first few years at school, mercy paid little mind to her peers. gryffindor was a fine enough sorting, different from her older brother’s slytherin and therefore better. she’d been a hatstall --- little eleven year old mercy, tiny and prideful, arguing with the hat about the merits of ravenclaw and gryffindor. petulantly deciding when its cry rang out that she’d always favored red, anyway.
but on the whole, she chafed at the idea of hogwarts; her mother hadn’t attended any formal magic school, and she was a fine witch, her spellwork sharp and quick. mercy didn’t like what facing other people her age made her notice about herself. she found out at school that most people weren’t raised as she was, to be dark and wicked and care for nothing.
( her first few years at school taught her to care for some things --- undid some of the measured practices her father had instilled in her. it was strange to feel distance from the pressures of being an heir, and mercy allowed it to change her. at times she hated that weak part of herself, and she did her best to shove it back, deep and down and away, every time she went home. )
being her father’s successor meant one day taking over his various roles for the shop. mercy had never had a choice but to love all the horrible, cruel things they dealt in; those horrible, cruel things were her birthright, twofold. her mother may have loathed sharing mercy with her father, but neither parent denied that mercy was truly the best choice, to be their successor. and until her time came to actually take it over, her father knew she could be of use to him.
her skills in persuasion and languages were an asset in acquiring items for the borgins. when she was nearly fifteen, she was not to summer with the calaveras in mexico --- instead she she sent to travel the world, her gifted speech and mind no longer window dressing, but tools. means of acquainting her with every dark corner she would need to come to rule.
the world had many dark corners. but it also had many beautiful ones. mercy was perhaps, at times, overconfident that she would be welcome anywhere she went. but it allowed her an honest eagerness everywhere she went, it allowed her to learn new things. she found wondrous things nearly everywhere she was sent to procure dark objects, and she made note of the duality.
she had always adored the picture her mother painted of magical puerto rico --- the family’s estates mexico had always seemed dull in comparison, as did wales. even the shop did, at times.
mercy could never remember feeling so pleased as she was that first summer. when she found out that the magical world was still a magical place, and that her pretty face and proficiency in language, her readiness to learn, granted her easy access to it.
she was a girl who had always handled awful objects and concepts with no real mind paid do them. it was something else altogether, to be expected and trusted to handle things with no awful purpose at all.
did it change her? in some ways yes, and in some ways, no. it was a pleasant change from everything else she knew, to see the world see her as a girl without danger. but she was still a very dangerous girl, because she had to be, because she’d been trained to be.
mercy, if ever asked, would insist it was her father’s fault for never wondering what a mind like hers would do when taken off the only well worn path it had ever known --- if only for a summer, if only for a purpose.
mercy was a smart girl, and had known that life everywhere else was different from the life she had led. she’d learned that her first year of school. it was something she made note of but paid little mind to. after all, it had nothing to do with her. but hogwarts, wizarding britain, even the underground trade they commanded --- her father often talked about how they all needed fixing. talked about how their family could be the one to forge that change.
but did they really require a borgin touch? it seemed everywhere she went, life was different than she’d been told it could be. and that was neither good nor bad. it just was.
it took gradual time to change mercy’s mind ( the span of summer was hardly enough time for her to weigh every option ) but she came back her sixth year as own person. no softer, no sweeter. that still wouldn’t do, no matter if she now had her own reasons to think so, instead of reasons inherited. and her father had always claimed to love her because of her hell-raising streak, but in truth, that streak was only worth loving when it could be controlled. when it came with a mind of its own it was trouble. mercy was trouble.
and trouble could never be the favorite: so mercy lost the title of favorite, heir, and successor in one fell swoop. it was all given to her youngest brother without a care in the world, yanked from her hands as it had once been yanked from her oldest brother.
mercy, if ever asked, would insist this was her father’s fault, too.
she was told this all like it was a gift, when she arrived home that winter break; her father presenting this failing as something she’d always wanted, when that just wasn’t true. her mother standing idly by like she approved of the usurping of her favorite’s throne. llewelyn acted like he gave mercy freedom, when he’d never let her know freedom was something worth wanting in the first place. when that was hardly something world travel could teach in his stead.
mercy had always been bright and terrifying and good.
not in the ethical sense --- she had just been good, at whatever she wanted to be good at. and there she was, with barely sixteen years of her life behind her, with no idea what she even wanted to do with the rest of it. not anymore.
all that restless, listless, aimless energy had to go somewhere, so mercy returned her efforts to ruining the lives of the people she didn’t care about. she spent a year turning the world upside down, toying with strangers and longtime acquaintances alike, not really caring about the damage left behind. she shunned any close, meaningful human contact; mercy had only recently seen that the world could be uncomplicated. it wasn’t such a loss when she decided that humans themselves could not be.
she was in no place to deal delicately with anyone else. it’d been a rare blessing when she did it before. with her world torn asunder and no more need to play nice, it became harder to even want to.
she did her best to torch a trail behind her, to leave nothing in her wake to return to. she used her beautiful, wicked mouth to say beautiful, wicked things, for the first time without any cause behind her. the unrest recently rent finally gave her a passing semblance of a cause --- she saw how easy it was to tear apart the world order.
and it was such a relief, wasn’t it? to know that she wasn’t the only one to be thrown off her pedestal. it took the deaths a few ‘ important ‘ people she cared nothing for, but mercy finally realized that it didn’t matter if her father didn’t like the person she’d become. if he thought she was no longer what was best for the family, its legacy, the shop ... who the fuck cared?
mercy knew she was still the best. that she was the only child of his who looked at the world without being told to. she knew now that following orders was a hindrance, not a blessing. she knew now that though he presumed to be the one giving orders, he wasn’t, really: that he was as hindered as anyone else in their bloodline.
mercy’s father had no power to unseat her from her birthright. she was not just a borgin, but a calavera, and she would not so easily be knocked down.
if she had to ally herself with an organization of other vipers, fine. she could pretend to care about their goals more than her own, for as long as it took her to get back what was rightfully hers. she agreed enough with their politics, their reasoning, to not find it a hardship. and she found that while working with them, she could curry favor with them all --- until everyone but her father agreed that she was the face of the borgin legacy.
she wanted more. she wanted what had been promised to her. so she would bide her time in order to get it back; she was too smart for hasty actions, and instead a million little plans were set in motion. the machinations, the fight for total purity, the politics --- it only mattered to her as much as she could use it. mercy was trained to fight, and she’d learned now that there was no reason to use that training for anyone’s gain but her own.
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