[b]Bella,[/b] she taps into her palm in a warcode. Over and over and over again. She owes her loyalty to Bella. To Mosaic of Beri. To her wife. [i]I love Bella. Bella. Bella.[/i]

[i]Bend,[/i] howl her knees. Around her, the Silver Divers surrender. How can they not? The gravity of the Shogun is everything. There are only two possible responses: to submit or to challenge.

And yet, impossibly, Redana chooses a third. With her helmet in the crook of one arm, the fingers of her other hand tapping as if the mantra is the only thing keeping her alive, she stands in the presence of the Shogun. She is small, true. And she is stiff, aware of every shadow, aware that she is attracting the attention of the superior of all superiors.

Her coat is heavy; she cannot move. Her sword is useless by her side. This is not something as glorious as picking up Beri and flinging it, true. It is much easier to stand still, after all. And yet it is, to her still-determined heart, as if the universe is weighing down on her shoulders. [i]Submit. Yield. Submit. Surrender. Beg for her praise. Beg for her love. Beg for her attention. Submit. Assimilate.[/i]

When Bella touches the Shogun, the noise that comes out of her throat is small and pathetic and needy. The noise of a little girl, lost and irrationally betrayed. That her Bella is not standing side by side, is not giving her the strength to do anything beyond standing against the impossible pressure of obeying the Shogun herself, is...

Is human. Not a perfect demigoddess who is going to save the day and show Redana the way forward.

[i]Bella. Bella. I love Bella. Bella. Bella.[/i]