Beaten and bloodied, Irina fought against the instinct to open her eyes and meet the gaze she felt searing into her—burning unpleasantly into her skin and her soul. It would have even penetrated her sight had she not cut off the connection to the wind, which would have been around to help her see.
She had decided that if she was to be treated so brutally, then at the very least she would get to keep a certain bit of her pride by refusing to look at her sister, figuratively or not. The scent of ash lingered in the air as the glare of Lysandra quite literally burned into her flesh, and a twisted, giddy excitement radiated from her sister, who reveled in seeing her bleed precious blood.
