“Shit.” Aya squeezed her eyes shut and took a breath, trying to clear her mind enough to think. Her senses were still too heightened— it was worlds better than the day before, but still just a bit too much, making it hard to focus.
“Where does he even get off?” she growled, her voice suddenly low and dangerous and...almost echoing, as though three of her spoke instead of one. “We’ve never been isolationist, never tried to—to purge our numbers or whatever that bastard Cecil was saying. How can he even— this country has literally never barred women from the military or the throne, it’s practically what we’re founded on! How can he— it doesn’t make sense! How dare he?!”
The anger was hot in her chest, burning fire behind the amethyst of her eyes when she snapped them open. Her lips curled in a snarl, her whole body trembling with rage and power that she didn’t yet know how to control.
Silver white flames burst into existence around her, creating a halo of bright light. Her eyes suddenly widened and she yelped in surprise, jumping backward and patting frantically at the silvery fire in an effort to smother it.