“What is your name, True Priestess?”
I lifted my chin. The staff in my hand was no longer cracked—it was blazing with soft, steady light. i won't lose! ~30 days a priestess
The final trial stood before me: a mirror showing every failure, every fear, every moment I nearly broke. “What is your name, True Priestess
When the temple gates opened again, the High Oracle waited. For the first time in a century, she bowed. When the temple gates opened again, the High Oracle waited
“You think I came here perfect?” I asked my reflection. “I came here hungry. I came here bleeding. I came here with nothing but thirty dawns of refusing to stay down.”
“The one who didn’t lose.” Would you like this adapted into a poem, a song lyric, or a script format?
I struck the phantom with a truth it couldn’t mirror: “I am not fighting to win. I am fighting because giving up has never been my prayer.”