Sorry, you must be a member of this group to do that.
still within her invisible grip. Because for the first time in my life, I don’t hear weakness in those words. No, I hear a little girl crying over her father’s dead body and surviving despite it. I hear the roar of an Elite crowd, chanting for the Ordinary beneath their noses who crafted her own power. I hear strength where shame once was, fearlessness where I would once cower.
