My body is a shrine of sacrifices I never consented to. Every joint is a hex-hinge. Every tear is a distilled mana potion. When I bleed, the wounds glow—pretty, like neon pink ribbons—and the enemy thinks I'm still fighting. But really? I'm just a puppet with too many strings, and the puppeteer is a committee of dead mages who wired my nerves like a bomb.
I don't dream anymore. Not real dreams. Instead, I see debug logs of my own soul. extreme-modification-magical-girl-mystic-lune
They told me the modifications would make me eternal. My body is a shrine of sacrifices I never consented to
Tonight, I'm going to cast a spell I've never tried before: Self-doubt as a shield. When I bleed, the wounds glow—pretty, like neon
So yes, I am powerful. I can unmake a city's memory of itself with a gesture. I can rewrite a monster's origin story so it never hated us—it just forgot it loved.