althea syvara senja—
with worn feet that have long been acquainted with the unforgiving skin of the asphalt, she walks as though each step remembers a story it never chose to tell ⋆｡°✩
the roads have taken more than they have given, yet she carries on—bearing a constellation of ancient wounds, still tender, still whispering their quiet ache beneath her ribs … ⊹₊⟡⋆

within her chest, a fragile hope flickers—muted, almost afraid of its own existence, like a candle trembling against the wind ⟡₊˚.༄
it does not blaze, it endures. it waits ⊹⋆
and in the hush between her breaths, she confesses to the unseen—
“𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘶𝘯𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦… yet i am left to remain, not untouched, not unbroken—but standing.” ✦₊˚

perhaps, in ways she cannot yet comprehend, she is being shaped by the very hands that once shattered her ☾⋆｡°
for she is not merely surviving the ruin—
she is learning, slowly and painfully, how to rise from it