Watching her emerge, stripped of her armor. The slow realization of what she’d gone through. The shock. The wail. The clumsy attempt to perform her dance of seduction before the pain and rage take over and she abandons what she knows to lash out with her grief.
I’ve read about so many women turned into monsters in lore after trauma that, I always see them as survivors of some terrible injustice. That they chose to become horrific to prevent ever experiencing the same pain.
So her cry to me said, this was never supposed to happen to me again.