Imenry moved faster, and although Elsa dearly wished herself to be the reason, the end result was still that her blow was diverted and she was thrown back. Gritting her teeth she moved back again, squinting in barely concealed anger at Imenry. The situation was growing ridiculous, but pride was the emotion that ruled most of her decisions, and she kept silent. For one fleeting moment she wanted to tell Imenry off for being a bad teacher - it was impossible to improve her skills when she had to invent the technique along the way - but pride sealed her lips yet again. She would master this, useless, aggravating and unfeminine though it was.
At the advice about magic, Elsa's teeth clicked shut and her chin lifted a few inches, staring angrily at Imenry. Elsa would be glad to use any and all spells at her bidding, emptying that waiting well of power inside her if she could; just to prove to Imenry that she could fight. There was no use though, because her magic was just as tentative as her fighting. The smile, when it came, surprised Elsa, and she did not smile in return. She might have, if she had taken the time to calculate how niceties would help the situation and her goals, but right now she just didn't feel like it.
Nodding shortly instead, she lowered her eyes to the weapon in her hand instead. She wished she knew any magic for making it fight Imenry without her, but she didn't even know if that was possible. In truth, she knew nothing of the bounds of her own capabilities. Could one run out of magic, the way one ran out of breath when running? Was magic endless, hidden away inside her like a never-ending resource? She doubted the latter, she had felt that strange exhaustion when using magic from time to time. Not often, but often enough to connect the two. Right now though, she felt angry and frustrated and it made her reckless enough to experiment.
Taking a loose hold of the dagger she held it in front of her and looked down on it. She wished she could just order it to do what she wanted, but she had no clear picture of what that was anyway. Unbidden, the sight of her own hand on fire came to her mind, and she frowned at the dagger. Could she make it burn too, could she somehow move the fire along her arm to extend to the dagger? Would it even be useful? Pursing her lips and concentrating she began with her hand, studying her fingers intently. Last she had tried it, it had not worked very well, for reasons she could not even guess. This time she was telling herself it had to. Focusing on the raging frustration and anger inside her, she tried to pull it out, let it flow from her soul into her arm and out into her fingers. She focused on warmth, on hot burning flames appearing and she tried to visualize it, to believe strongly enough that it could be there, that it would appear.
Nothing happened, and she tried to concentrate harder, focus her will on her hand and the dagger in it. Beads of sweat appeared on her pale forehead and there was a certain lightheadedness hovering threateningly.
And then her hand and entire right arm exploded in flame, turning the limb into a burning torch, flames hot against her face but not burning her, just licking her skin. She tried to make it move to engulf her dagger; for one moment she stood holding a flaming dagger, the flames rising high over her head. The next it was gone, disappeared into nothingness and she was left reeling and blinded. Drawing a shaky breath, Elsa's legs gave out under her, and busy trying to breath, she still had time to think that maybe anger, frustration and magic did not go very well together.