In one life, she is a warrior.
Alone against the coldness of the world; motherless and doomed to have her wings clipped or ripped forcefully from between her shoulder blades. Nothing but a gifted dagger destined to make her greater than she was born to be, and a borrowed sword from a greater man doomed to fade away into oblivion and mere memories.
A warrior never to be a wife; always remembering the almost husband who she didn't really know, nor cared to know, carelessly dying to men who make her cousin broken, but not shattered. Something that will always haunt her forever and a day until the end of time and beyond even that.
A warrior, who, despite her fears, may or may not learn to open her heart to new possibilities. May or may not die a selfless death to a demon who may or may not devour her very being only to destroy itself in the process in which was meant to save it.
She is a warrior that lives a life, which starts tragic, but may end happily. Or start tragic simply to end with her lifeblood spilling across stone in a place she may or may not want to be. In this life, she may or may not choose to give as a warrior so that the people she may or may not know live to see another day brighter than the ones behind her.
In another life, she is a hunter.
Afraid of one Wolf, but not all wolves. Loved by one and loved by many. With natural poison, she shoots her arrows into hearts and with a silver tongue she can be more but chooses not to.
This life is wilder than the last, with walls of trees instead of stone, starting and ending just or more tragically.
Love is still lost – shattered, this time, and simply gone like dandelion fluffs in the wind's dying song.
No borrowed swords, only borrowed time.
Borrowed time in which she can choose to live for the one lost and become more than just a wild wonder.
She may or may not choose to save the boy; may or may not choose to save the man-wolves of the tree-walls she knows so well.
May or may not learn to love again, should she be willing to accept the hurt of yet another potential lost love to demons she doesn't understand. Doesn't understand, but may grow to understand more than she wants to.
But she trusts magic more than most.
In this life, she is trapped.
Caged, knowingly and she accepts it because she has to. There is no gold and there are no jewels; merely dreams and demons and fire at her fingertips should she choose to use it, but she never does.
This life is one she knows well; of imprisonment and more danger than any other. There are liars who were friends and she can only choose to help or tell, only to help anyway and still be punished, no matter her intentions. No matter where her loyalties lie.
A templar loves her and then hates her; his cold gaze burns just as much as the burning stone cage that holds the blood of her people. People like her with storms and ice and magic at their fingertips. People who die or kill, but spill blood no matter which life they choose to lead. The templar hates her anyway. She may or may not hate him too.
She may choose to succumb to the demons in her dreams, or be more than just another casualty to their whispers. She can hate her life, or learn to accept and grow strong. Become a warrior or a healer, no weapons, but her own two hands and her simple, but unbreakable will to live or die.
The one with the least options, but the most possibilities. This is her life. The life she lives, not because she wants to, but because she has to and she always has to.
She knows not of lost love; only of hopes and dreams and wants that she cannot or should not allow herself, but may allow herself anyway. There are few reasons, or many reasons, for her to put her life on the line to save a world that never wanted her.