Training room. By far one of the places she spent most of her time, besides classes, ofcourse. Tirelessly training. Constantly improving and getting better.
But she was still not good enough. A scowl appeared on her face as she kept going for the heavy punching bag. Bandages around her knuckles, running all the way up to her elbows. Small dots of blood visible around her knuckles. Her skin was surprisingly tender. And the rough fabric of the punching back had managed to open up her skin a fair bit. So the bandages were a good option. It didn't really help that Mathilde had a very bad sense of touch, so she had only noticed the fact her knuckles were ripped open and bleeding when it was just a tad too late.
But luckily, the training room was empty. The only spectator that heard the constant thudding of Mathilde's punches and witnessed that she was using not only her hands, but also elbows in a flurry of attacks for training was her massive scythe. Posted against the wall. Haunting in it's gestalt, the weapon just waited for it's next use.
And Mathilde just kept going. Untill a final punch knocked the thing from it's hinges. And a soft breath came from her.
Not good enough.
Never good enough.
But she was still not good enough. A scowl appeared on her face as she kept going for the heavy punching bag. Bandages around her knuckles, running all the way up to her elbows. Small dots of blood visible around her knuckles. Her skin was surprisingly tender. And the rough fabric of the punching back had managed to open up her skin a fair bit. So the bandages were a good option. It didn't really help that Mathilde had a very bad sense of touch, so she had only noticed the fact her knuckles were ripped open and bleeding when it was just a tad too late.
But luckily, the training room was empty. The only spectator that heard the constant thudding of Mathilde's punches and witnessed that she was using not only her hands, but also elbows in a flurry of attacks for training was her massive scythe. Posted against the wall. Haunting in it's gestalt, the weapon just waited for it's next use.
And Mathilde just kept going. Untill a final punch knocked the thing from it's hinges. And a soft breath came from her.
Not good enough.
Never good enough.