It takes no more than a gentle nudge to put her at ease. Drawing back to a thousand memories, most of them shadowed by broken bones and blood: an unraveling braid, a stained sword, a body count. Everyone she has ever cared for is dead. The eyes close by day, her life ticks by night. She’s living on shattered glass. How often has that scar re-opened? Enough to make sure she is always bleeding. There’s only so much pain a person can take, even for warriors, and she knows: love is weakness. It sits on her shoulder and leers and reminds her of every gaze that has made her smile. She is so close to believing that it’s true—no, she’s stronger than that. She leaves room for a glimmer of love, and then, infinitely patient, she watches as it arrives. It nearly takes her breath away.
So, I’ve been thinking about The 100. Partly inspired by Lexa, but I think this could relate to most of the other characters on the show: holy smokes, they’re a broken lot, aren’t they? And yet the ones that manage to rise and push past the pain and keep that brave face on, my god. Just, damn. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking and inspiring.