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LUMINEUSES CICATRICES
Three, two, one: she stands tall; and those who thought her wounded, broken, fragile, those who deemed her lost, witness her incredible metamorphosis. She had no choice in weapons. She had no weapons. She only has her gaze, steady, burning. She moves forward, sensual, determined. It’s like a dance. She sways, undulates, light as air, enchanting, dangerous. She has lived a thousand lives. She reigns, sovereign, provider of light, freedom, and love. Nothing stops her. Her imprint is eternal.