[ He could have dodged if he wanted to– she can tell as much. But he doesn't, and his eyes are suddenly bright, some indication of life greater than a pulse and beating heart.

The only indication of her surprise when he grabs her is how her eyes widen. The smile on her face does not fade– just grows sharper and more cruel.

Is there any point in dodging his blade? She won't die– perhaps that's why he'd met her blow head on. ]

Good luck finding someone who is worthy to do the job!

[ Her sword falls from her hand, clatters nosily on the stands.

She grabs his blade with her bare hands, hissing silently as it cuts her skin. ]

And since we're on the subject– 

[ Her grip around the blade grows stronger, blood staining her hands and dripping between their feet. ]

– who the fuck says you're worthy of the privilege?