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On the day Saber went the theater, Kirsikka Edelfelt wrote a letter in her head. Dear sister, she would write. Saber is exceptional. There are none alive, I am certain, who could measure against her. The men and women of this age are too small-minded and mean, but she! She is a creature of sheer strength and ambition. She will not stop until her legend is made immortal. She has inspired me, sister, as only legend can ...
Then Saber came home, bloody and happy and in need of healing.
Dear sister, she could have written instead. Saber is a fool.
This was not how Kirsikka expected her entrance in the war, and it was her entrance, for Saber's blade was her destiny -- was that not what she sang, at the summoning? It should not be drawn in vain. She argued with her Servant, insisted that from now on each battle should be strategic, and that Saber should be as close and obedient as a right hand, or else venture out under the watchful eye of a familiar.
But truth be told, Saber's specialization was melee combat. It must have been glorious to witness, Kirsikka thought to herself, for the second time. And she missed it.
Then Saber came home, bloody and happy and in need of healing.
Dear sister, she could have written instead. Saber is a fool.
This was not how Kirsikka expected her entrance in the war, and it was her entrance, for Saber's blade was her destiny -- was that not what she sang, at the summoning? It should not be drawn in vain. She argued with her Servant, insisted that from now on each battle should be strategic, and that Saber should be as close and obedient as a right hand, or else venture out under the watchful eye of a familiar.
But truth be told, Saber's specialization was melee combat. It must have been glorious to witness, Kirsikka thought to herself, for the second time. And she missed it.
