the child wanders in borrowed shadows, confused, gently guided away from herself she remembers who she once was— a quiet echo of origin, a fragile continuity of hope that hope was not lost; it was taken, handled by hands that claimed to kindle her light, only to suffocate the very flame she struggled to protect she endured the language of knives, yet it was not steel that ended her— it was meaning, shaped into words, that taught her how to bleed |lcvel3i