She rests on the ground, sword out like she's ready to strike. She's no snake, but a swan instead, despite the sword in her hand.
And then bracing herself with a look, she stands, left foot guiding her right, and she moves to the side, sword out as if she'd already slashed the air.
Like a swan of death, she's beautiful and hard to look away from; memories behind her eyes, sad ones that flit through her mind. Old hopes and dreams discarded. And when she lands on her knees, she looks skyward, like she's praying, sword drawn up to the air, as if asking for strength.
It's vulnerable but stubbornly full of life, a plea that doesn't avoid action. Her sorrow released in a prayer and a dance.
And then she moves off to the side, as if led by the answers to her prayer.
She's beautifully strong through her weakness because of her honest vulnerability and that fuels her resolve, allows her this much more strength.