"Insight"
Her swordsmanship was like a ballad, strong, bold, and capturing. She moved fluidly, the rippling of her dress and the whirling strands of her hair emphasizing her graceful movements. Sparks flew when her weapon struck the Prince's sword; metal whined and screamed as swords intercrossed. If she was a ballad, Utena was an amateur's aria, searing and forceful, if lacking in skill. Only the strength that Dios (dios what an odd name is he a god or is he a) lent to her made her a formidable opponent, but her desire burned in every move she made. A slash, a flurry of petals, and it was through. Both roses collapsed upon themselves and fell to the floor in a shower. She did not mind.
"My objective was not intangible," she said, through the haze of memories, false and true, hers and not hers. The girl was staring at her shatter-shocked, and she could feel that confusion and hesitance from the voice that sang from her. And all through that, laced and shot through to her very soul, the abstract made real: the concept of Prince. "The knight climbed up the glass hill and slid down. That's what comes of climbing glass," she said to her, "You're not the one in the gold."
She left her with her sword and her witch-queen, the petals withering on the floor.