: Realizing that defiance against a Maiden-level threat is certain death, you lower your head. Raven shears a small lock of your hair with the tip of her blade—a symbolic gesture of her ownership over your fate.
The air in the tent is thick with the scent of pine and ozone. sits upon her makeshift throne, her crimson mask resting on the table beside her. She doesn’t look angry; she looks disappointed, which is far more dangerous. Lana Rain_Raven-Branwen-Makes-You-Submit--RWBY.mp4
: She leans in, her sharp, calculating eyes locked on yours. She offers a final chance to prove your worth—not through words, but through total obedience to the tribe's survivalist code. : Realizing that defiance against a Maiden-level threat
