( She winces, eyes averting to her right shoulder-- the shoulder she sustained a gun shot wound; the one her uncle had managed to hit, the first of her many scars. In response to Edgeworth's question, she nods. )
By whatever means necessary. He very nearly had me killed. That was the memory I relived.
( She turned silent now, her own hands balled up upon her knees. It was difficult thinking about it now, the thought of having to shoot down her own uncle-- a man she believed she could trust, in defense of her own life. It was necessary, she knew. It was not an act she regretted. But everything that came after? The constant need to prove herself, to frame herself a relentless soldier to the Round Table, to appear unmoved by the lives she had been forced to take. That part she abhorred.
Had she truly become so callous; unfeeling-- an Iron Maiden? )
no subject
By whatever means necessary. He very nearly had me killed. That was the memory I relived.
( She turned silent now, her own hands balled up upon her knees. It was difficult thinking about it now, the thought of having to shoot down her own uncle-- a man she believed she could trust, in defense of her own life. It was necessary, she knew. It was not an act she regretted. But everything that came after? The constant need to prove herself, to frame herself a relentless soldier to the Round Table, to appear unmoved by the lives she had been forced to take. That part she abhorred.
Had she truly become so callous; unfeeling-- an Iron Maiden? )