‘Oh, why did I complain about accounting?’ Vannessa asks her Firebird.
‘Focus on the lesson! Complain later.’ The bird yells back.
She is black and blue with blossoming bruises all over her skin. She can feel each and every one of them and each new blow with the staff rattles her to the bones. She is fast as a shifter, but it can’t compare to the skills of an ancient god. He can anticipate her every move and blocks her easily while delivering blow for blow. She managed to block every tenth blow, maybe. His ongoing commentary about positions and how to hold the staff is playing on a loop in her mind, but it doesn’t help much.
She feels like a failure and she is ready to quit on the next strike, but her Firebird is sneaky and she shows her an image of Vittorio. She knows why she is train
