Her cobalt indigo eyes overflowed with tears of utter guilt and regret. All the corpses around her had homes and children waiting for them at home. What was she going to tell them if she lived? That their mothers and fathers had become graveyard decorations? She would be doomed if she didn\u2019t die today. Everything that was left of her was thumped within her flesh and bones. Her organs felt like a mechanical engine. Her shaking heart was about to collapse. Prayer after prayer, she begged whatever higher power would answer her cries. But the beast that stood before her was a human more noble than herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The strong figure approached her slowly, leaving her footsteps in the mud. Her hair was ashy and brown, dropping down just a little lower than where her collarbones were under the layers of her armor. She had quite the tall build, towering even over men. Her skin was like warm porcelain and her eyes were stained bloodshot red and emerald. She didn\u2019t have a name \u2013 people only called her Victory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victory stood over Jean, looking down at the almost-pathetic knight. She pitied her. No child should have had the best parts of their lives reaped for war. Not like hers was. Victory pulled her heavy sword from the ground and placed the shining tip under the girl\u2019s chin. Jean looked up at the godly figure that stood before her monstrously human physique and wept away her bloody nose. She felt like a human. So vulnerable, so fragile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The longer that Victory looked at Jean, the longer that she could feel her eyes soften. It wasn\u2019t every day that she got the rare sight of a warrior falling to their knees. And she looked so young. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victory examined all the scars on the girl\u2019s face, on her exposed wounded body, her muscular arms covered in cuts\u2026 and she could almost feel them on herself. She looked as though her heart had been ripped out and now thumped on the wrong side of her chest \u2013 she was almost more of a doll than an actual girl. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
With the last of her strength, Jean coughed out the last of the blood in her throat. Her voice weaved through the cracks of the wind, weakly reaching out to a volume just barely heard. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd does Victory have a name?\u201d She asked hoarsely, her losing beating sentiments lingering in her enemy\u2019s ears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victory inhaled the dusty air of the battlefield and closed her eyes. There\u2019s nothing to lose when your secrets are with a corpse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPeople call me Lisa. It means \u2018oath from God\u2019, just like how victory is an oath from God.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
She moved the locks of blonde hair that covered Jean\u2019s left eye, letting out a loud breath of air. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat a beautiful scar you have,\u201d she whispered <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s almost like love leaking its ink onto paper. Like the moon collided against the sun to form an imperfect eclipse.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lisa knelt down, taking a closer look at her nemesis. She took her gloved fingers and swept away the hair that covered the bloody line across her face but didn\u2019t remove it from her face completely. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat a shame. Were you loved enough?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jean shrugged her shoulders. All the words that left her throat died on her lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry I\u2019m late,\u201d Lisa said weakly, \u201cI\u2019ll love you from now on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIf I had loved you yesterday, we wouldn\u2019t be here, but what wrong time exists?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Jean believed there were things in this world that didn\u2019t deserve to be loved: things that were broken, ugly, or served no purpose in the world but acted as a waste of space. They were abominations of the planet to her. But of all the monstrosities of the world, the one thing she hated most […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1302,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_mi_skip_tracking":false},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/quill.binabangsaschool.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/775"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/quill.binabangsaschool.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/quill.binabangsaschool.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/quill.binabangsaschool.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/quill.binabangsaschool.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=775"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/quill.binabangsaschool.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/775\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1303,"href":"https:\/\/quill.binabangsaschool.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/775\/revisions\/1303"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/quill.binabangsaschool.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1302"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/quill.binabangsaschool.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=775"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/quill.binabangsaschool.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=775"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/quill.binabangsaschool.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=775"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
![\"\"\/](\"https:\/\/lh4.googleusercontent.com\/Gf64Cd0b3KP5gYc9DZQ9zgAnqKjOBBGi8ZILJBxRk6rxsFvgSOWs1wyY2ODIh79h9BI01y5BZRkraAvVnlnRO_pc_uj4JQKPqBEOYPsDUfSiteC1FlctxfYYwBMDLoyACRJsUlC2yyYrSm1O5nmFKREvclsRNJvOhaLA5cBjhxibD4NJwNDnYXUMJazL\")