Take it, please, you cry to her. The blade. My power. Take it, and...
Despite your imminent death, you laugh, ruefully.
I would have said "continue my work," you whisper, but you were always the wiser of us. Do what you feel is right.
You feel her claws close over the hilt of your sword, ever so gently.
I won't continue our work, she tells you, and her voice breaks into a snarl. I will finish it.