Chapitre 45: Born
She was born with a poem on her lips, voice raw and lungs stretching, forming her first screams as she claimed the stage with her existence.
I am born.
A year later, her throat gurgled, struggling to form words to convey what child eyes could see in the purest form.
As she grew, she heard and listened, waiting with a patience a child her age should not have, and watched.
She'd grab the attention of anyone near to tell them her words that poured honey between her fingers, that pooled at their feet, crystallizing into diamonds that sparkles and reflected her soul that sings.
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone