Her Sovereign Fire

 She was the quiet before the storm,

the hands that mended what she never broke.
She loved in colors they couldn’t see,
a light too fierce for those who spoke
only in shadows, only in need.

She gave—oh, how she gave—
laughter, comfort, pieces of soul,
pouring life into barren hearts,
never minding the cracks forming in her own.

They breathed her in like morning air,
certain she would always stay,
blind to the fire beneath her skin
until she chose to burn instead of bend.

And now she stands where love is pure,
where her name is spoken like power.
No longer waiting to be chosen,
no longer dimming to make others shine.

She is hers. Entirely.
A kingdom untouchable, a throne unshaken.
No keys, no maps, no open doors
for those who dared to lay hands
on a force they were never worthy to wield.

This era? It is hers alone.
And its fire will bow to no one.

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