Ryelle hurled her bag into the closet and slammed the door shut.
I can not, will not, fight for them!
She threw herself onto her rickety bed and screamed into her pillow. An entire week of traveling with nonstop, unfiltered contact between her and her bloodthirsty people - it had nearly pushed her over the edge. In fact, this was about as close to the edge as Ryelle had ever gotten.
Do they think that I will spoil my conscience, that I will spill the blood of another, just for some stupid battle? She sat up and landed a punch squarely in the center of the abused pillow. I - am - not - a - killer!
Ryelle sat up suddenly, her blonde hair a mess, her left eye red with unshed frustrated tears. She could still win. All it would take is a little diplomacy and leadership, and she would be golden. Perhaps she could even save the various peoples of the war, and end it for good.
The goal was ambitious, but she was ready to face the daunting challenge. With a quick glance in the mirror to fix the nastiness that was her face (and to adjust the black eyepatch that had gone a bit askew), Ryelle took a deep breath, yanked the map off of the door, and headed for the gym. It was where students were required to spend nearly a quarter of their day - she was bound to find someone there.