Flames burned within her not of suffering, but of defiance. Her body was fragile, her skin thin and stretched, revealing the bones beneath. But they were not a sign of weakness. No, they were proof of her strength of everything she had endured and still stood against.
The storm howled, cold winds tearing at her, but she did not waver. Her fingers, though frail and worn, held the violin with unwavering resolve. She lifted the bow, and the first note echoed through the chaos soft, trembling, yet unbroken.
With every stroke, fire coursed through her veins, not to consume, but to empower. The storm roared, trying to silence her, but her music only grew louder, fiercer. The crimson fabric swirled around her not just cloth, but a banner of resilience.
Then, as if surrendering to her song, the storm began to break. A golden light pierced through the darkness, illuminating her fragile yet powerful form. Her melody soared not just a whisper of survival, but an anthem of triumph.
Pain had tried
