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I’d always been a spitfire, and proud of it. An unbreakable spirit in a world that wanted me to be quiet, small, subservient. But no longer was that spark manifesting in courage or innocent mischief. Now, it had become something destructive.
“I think no child should have to die because of who or what their parents are.” “Even if that’s the cost required to keep our realm powerful?” “If the death of innocents is a cost we’re willing to pay, then we don’t deserve to be powerful.”
But tonight, I felt like a passenger to my own rage.