Anna; XVIII, ENFP
"And we swagger because we do not know how to part with our rage, which we cherish and press cutting close, but we learn to swagger — or rather, we’re swaggered, briefly, while the wind blows and things burn and our hands are full — because we know it darkly all the same."
And Helen smiled.
Two armies were fighting over her. Shouting her name in love or in hatred. Dying for her.
She was everywhere, like weather, passing through the chaos as a goddess, untouched. She wore a white gown, and it was never sprayed with blood.”