[The guttural voice booming from the demon's throat bears no resemblance to the tone Grant once used to whisper sweet words in her ears. There's hardly a trace left of the man she once knew though she still recognizes him by the tattered pink ribbon tied around one of his horns. About half a year ago, she'd received that gift from home, a piece of herself from the time she served OZ. Back then, she'd style her hair into two braids, coiling them on either side of her head and tying them back with pink ribbon. It was a feminine touch for a woman who sent thousands to their deaths. In a fit of whimsy, she'd asked to tie the ribbon around one of his horns and he'd obliged.
It's a tradition harkening back to days of old. A knight wears his lady's favor into battle.
She just never expected the battle would be with himself. Looking at him now, it appears as if he's lost to her. She reaches out to him, resting a hand on his bare chest as tears threaten to spill from her eyes.]
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It's a tradition harkening back to days of old. A knight wears his lady's favor into battle.
She just never expected the battle would be with himself. Looking at him now, it appears as if he's lost to her. She reaches out to him, resting a hand on his bare chest as tears threaten to spill from her eyes.]
Grant, you have to fight this.