The world hungers for her fire—her laughter sharp as a blade, her voice unafraid to shake the trees. They crave the storm in her, the way she dances through city streets like a flame that refuses to dim. Yet the moment she slips on a ring, the rules shift. The spark they praised becomes a threat, the storm a danger to be tamed. Be fierce, but gentle. Wild, yet controlled. The riddle echoes through generations, a trap disguised as a compliment.
They want her to bend, to soften into a garden of quiet, hidden dread. To trade her wit for honeyed words, her rebellion for a mirror’s reflection. But she is not a chameleon, changing colour to suit their whim. She is a river—deep, uncharted, wide—carving her own path through stone. Her soul is not a canvas for their pride, nor a muse to fuel their stories.
The cage they built on shifting sands demands she shrink, but she refuses. Let the fire burn, let the storm rage. Her worth is not measured by her ability to fit into their narratives. She is a force of nature, untethered, and unapologetic. Be bold, be quiet, be whatever you choose. The world may fear her uncharted depths, but she will not be tamed.
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P.C: Pinterest
Writing: Mine
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