Unparalleled
Disclaimer: I wish I could say that it is, but Claymore isn't mine.
Summary: A moment is all it takes to efface a lifetime. IreneXTeresa. Very slight. One shot.
What consummation entails is full realization. What full realization espouses, however, is reciprocity.
But Irene, wielder of the Quick Sword, would come to know otherwise. There was the danger of falling into that trap, she knew it as she watched her perfectly synchronized movements in the air, landing blows most accurately as though she demanded a whole new set of standards regarding perfection. That, too, was an urgent fact. She wasn't even a close second, definitely not a rivaling comrade as much as an awed onlooker. Before she could even think of coming close, the sturdy wall loomed before her and her, refusing to be broken down and admit her passage. Instead, she saw her fleeting figure passing through her like a shadow, momentarily darkening her vision as if to tease her, to make her feel that she was superior in all matters of assets. She knew that, too, and thought far from contesting it. She never quite spared anyone in that regard; even without meaning to, she would wind up encouraging their profound amazement. She never, ever failed.
And like many of those after her, they would remember her peerless grace. Admiration was a generous gift in those days, but whether or not warriors chose to keep it to themselves was a business of their own. Irene herself would come to receive similar gestures from those of the lower ranks, and most of them were, and they adored her power, her efficiency, her intelligence. She never stopped to think twice if she deserved them; she did, in many ways. But she wondered if these added up to her worth; for in truth, the only praise she sought was hers, as a protégé would long for the same thing from his master. That was the principal thing, the only measure of her true value as a warrior. She grew slightly bitter even then as she maintained outward indifference. Her thoughts were as unreadable as her movements anyway.
And thus for her, a conclusion had long been reached: their relationship could never be defined by anything other than its absence. Luckily, she had to die before Irene came to see these thoughts for what they were. She almost fell in love with her. At times she still cringes at the notion, how someone so untouchable could be conceived alongside an emotion as silly as love. If she could reverse time, wouldn't she murder the inclination and not watch her battles at all? She knew she wouldn't; for to Irene, Teresa was the only phenomenon worth witnessing.
It was all wishful thinking to begin with, and so it shall end in no other form, however reason dictates otherwise.
END