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Chapter 7: Scarrs
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Chapter 7: Scars
   
   

Revision as of 19:49, December 9, 2019

Chapter 7: Scars



You've all been waiting to hear about what happened at Nightfall. I don't blame you. It's a story that I'd like to think defines me. You already know the first part, and the ending. I vanished, and snuck up to the room where Vespara was hiding. At the end, Vespara escaped, and I came out with half my face in Zeebra stripes of blood. 

What you don't know is the in between parts. The section of the story that will stick with me for life. 

The first thing I can remember is how dark it was up there. Like she was allergic to any sort of brightness. 

I remember her voice. How real and cold and menacing it was from up close. Like poisoned honey. I also remember her first words to me, burnt into my brain, leaving a scar of their own:

"You should hide, Vacker girl. It's all you'll ever be good for." 

That's when I attacked. 

Some might say we fought like cats, hissing and scratiching. But that's an understatememnt. We fought like lions, using everything we had to end each other. I'd vanish in and out of the shadows, kicking and punching. She'd swing violently with the shards of glass. 

But it wasn't like tackle bramble, or base quest. My enemy was trying to kill me. And she nearly did.

I remember the world slowing down, as she shoved me with all her might into the mirror. I seemed to glide into the mirror, and the shards seemed to break off one at a time, floating into the darkness. 

And her smile, frozen on her face like a statue of menace. 

And then, suddnely, I was on the floor. Shards glinting around me. And Vespera was looming down, eyes cold as ice. 

I'd done some damage too, and she left with a bad limp, but I won't lie and say I won. I lay there, blood leaking from my face, the silver glints of my reflection standing out from the darkness. A mirror scarred the beautiful Vacker girl. Litterally vanity...

It's almost poetic. 

So there you go. The big story. Is it as amazing as you had imagined? 

Hm. Interestning. 

Well I've been rambling about the change in myself all this time, which I suppose is the point. But I guess the moral of this part is:

Strength isn't something that you earn, it's something that was there all along, waiting for the right moment. And most of the time, the moment comes like a storm. You get hurt. You loose things. You're forced to let go of what you thought defines you. 

I thought I was defined by my family, my legacy, my looks, my ability. But those are just trivia. I am defined by my choices. 

And I chose to fight.

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