She was breathtaking, but beyond the way the world often described beauty. Her pitch-black hair, thick and wild, framed her face like a living shadow. Her crimson eyes burned with a defiant light as if daring the world to challenge her, to test her.
Her body, perfect in its proportions, was marred by deep, jagged scars, each one etched into her flesh. The scars didn't detract from her allure—they enhanced it, a testament to surviving Midnight City.
Her face, though scarred, held a fierce beauty, that refused to be tamed or softened. She wasn't delicate; she wasn't fragile. She was fiery, in all her raw, scarred self.
"An awakener? No wonder they chained you up so well,"
I broke the cage and took off the tape on her mouth.
"Let me go or I'll rip all of your hearts out!" She roared.
"They're dead."
