You take a deep breath and stand before the mirror. You see a stranger, someone wearing your skin that you don’t recognize. Someone whose face is too long, whose hair is too short, whose bones take up too much space under the too tight skin.
Do you know what I see?
A warrior, whose face grew long fighting too many battles, coming up with too many strategies for escape against the tyrant of time.
A warrior, who sacrificed more than just her hair to save herself and the colonies within her body, even if it meant she would have to kill part of herself to live.
A warrior, who won the battle and wears her skin and bones like armor against the judgemental world.
That’s what I would tell you if you had made it out alive.
But you didn’t.
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