Flying

In the basement, the last room on the left, she sleeps under the shadows of a twisted patriarchy.

Her wounds heal quickly. Her flesh still unaffected by the the linear vacuum of time.

Her heart beats in sync to her mothers' - a soul's commitment that burns in the crematorium of broken archetypes.

Bound by authority she takes it to bed with her and promises to fight anyone for this shattered piece of stardust.

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