“I /am/ very humorous! Do my jokes not make you laugh?”

Her movements were one with the realm of the spirits; swiftly they heeded the call of her dance, lifting the blades without the aid of her hands. The Defiant Blade now practiced her form. It must never falter. No one shall see it be.

Soft and delicate; bearing Ionia’s wrath.

Aatrox; a Darkin foolish enough to watch her in her dance – knowing he could be the next the sharp ends of her blades will point upon.

“The winds are calm today. The First Lands rest.”

Gathered smiles of the fallen—a picture of a distant what-could-have-been. Her family wrapped in their own embraces against one another; she was squeezed in the center of all warm arms; her father was the final layer of it all, and her mother the second before him.

She smiled with a bittersweet mix of happy melancholy at the thought. At times her vengeance—not enough to soothe the island she had become from her horrored past. It was cruel to have become snared by her lonesome, but she hadn’t lost it all. There remained dance.

Her eyes already served as the ocean’s twin, and the spirits of the ocean came enamoured by her gaze; waves washed violently with a leap on the stone walls of the high land—trying to reach the peak but to no avail. The land did not let the waters reach even an inch of grass.

No salted drop wet the fields. The wind sang louder and pulled her hair back, flowing with the fabrics clung to her wrists. If it weren’t for Irelia rebelling against the hand of invaders, perhaps the winds would have sung no longer.

“If they are not welcome, what greets them are the blades.”

“Can one talk to the spirits long past?”

Peace in the mind is needed for the blades the flow like the amble waters. Her will pushes these waters to tumultuous waves.