poe {{ four (fin) . cbd3

She is a dying flame, the scream of a banshee smothered in all it's silenced glory. Mutism braved the routes of her veins when she was born, tracing the course of her bones and her being until it ended up at her vocal cords. 

Her family made their living through poetry, speaking their feelings and emotions to the crowd, preaching to choirs as if it meant anything. They named her Poe as a tribute, in memoriam of someone long since gone. 

She became the black sheep when they discovered she would not, could not speak. 

They were a family of pacifists, but the disappointment and regret in their eyes did the damage they could not, would not realize. Their voices loud, her spirits broken, she spent years locked inside of her own mind, feeling herself slipping into the unknown. 

Would not, should not, as soon as she picked up her first blade at the training center she knew she had found her voice in the way steel collides with steel, pride to ego. By twelve she turned from black sheep to black lion, roaring loud against the silence she had so long endured. 

At sixteen she embraced her silence, growing into the confident and talented career she would not, should not have been.

Her blade clashes against her opponents and she smiles, driving her leg up into his groin and watching him fall to his knees before roundhouse kicking him onto the mat. Her footsteps soft, her eyes like steel, she circles around the boy, the insults he threw at her before the match echoing in her mind. 

She stops short for a moment, before driving her foot into the boy's head, knocking him out cold. 

And wordlessly, she roars.