Savannah Watson

Author’s Note: Content warning – symbolic references to violence and trauma (physical/sexual). Reader’s discretion.

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You took everything from me. You crushed my soul under your cruel heels. You ripped out my white wings with your bare hands and mounted them to your wall like a prize. You told the world of your actions with pride, like some monstrous king telling the story of your conquest. You made me feel weak and afraid. You made me think I was nothing. You robbed me of my innocence, of myself, of my life.

I ran. Ran from you. Ran from me. Ran from the memories that attacked me over and over.

When I came back, everyone thought I would be the same person.

No.

I came back with power and strength rippling off me. My innocence was long dead but laid to gentle rest by my own hands. My wings were re-grown, black and thorny, daring you to ever touch them again. My soul was reborn in fire and ice and lightning and darkness, a force to be reckoned with. I wore my scars like jeweled armor, vengeance sheathed on my hip. I came back dangerous, with blood in my heart. I came back untouchable.

And that makes me the villain of this story?

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