The wind pulled at her, but she remained—unmoving, unflinching.
There was no drama in her defiance, only the quiet, irrevocable decision to meet what came without retreat.
Her eyes did not wander. They held.
Held the ache, the truth, the becoming.
This was not the moment she fought.
It was the moment she stopped fleeing.
And something ancient in the air recognized her as its own.