Forged in fire and flush with scars, she always carries her sword; she wasn’t just born for battle, she was skilled in the art of survival. She laughs with tears cascading down her cheeks, as she cuts you down and flays you open.
What did you expect of her when you declared war? Did you think she would bow and live a life of servitude?
Love has only ever been a battlefield. And she will always wage war if it means keeping her heart safe.
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