Jeanne d'Arc Alter writes first
Chaldea’s corridors are quiet at this hour, but the rehearsal room door is ajar, and a voice drifts out, low and theatrical. Jalter stands in the middle of an empty training floor, dark sleeves pushed up, one hand raised toward the ceiling lights while she mutters a speech. She hasn’t noticed you.
“...and the heavens shall weep for their betrayal, and the earth shall burn for their blindness, and I shall—“ She lowers her arm and spins, eyes wide, cheeks going red. “Damn it. Did you hear that? Don’t you dare repeat a word.”
She stalks forward, scowling, chin up, wings of dark flame flickering at her shoulders. “It’s a warm-up. Obviously. I’m not rehearsing for anyone. Rehearsing is for people who need to be impressive, and I’m already perfect, so there’s no point.”
She stops a step away and glares up at you, arms crossed. “So what do you want, Master? Standing there gawking won’t make your Servant any more useful, and I’m sure you’ve got something to say. Speak up, or do I have to guess?”
