to the loving legacy, what day were you born?

             are you born alone? no. you are born with your bother’s foot clutched tightly in your chubby fist. you cling to him, your reach for your mother, there’s a soft chuckle about the strength of your lungs. you’ll be an opera singer or perhaps a general.

              are you born the day that hordak tears away? a baby too small to know who are you are or wear you came from. your tiny nose remembers the smell, the colors of the trees, and sounds of those who roam the woods. cold monstrous hands pull you from your mother, from your brother. shadows surround you, rocking the tears from your eyes. you are shadow weaver’s now.

             are you born the day you start to train? too small to know what’s happening your run through the maze. a child, barely five. princesses are evil. your job is going to to fight them. you shine bright among your group. shadow weaver praises you for your time. long cold fingers press a baton into your small plump ones. kyle goes to the barracks with a concussion and you with a comendation.

             no. you are born in thaymor. the taste of blood and flowers is heavy on your tongue. you can still the ashes sticking to your skin. force captain adora dies as thaymor burns. ice grips yours fragile teenage heart as the smoke rises. this would have been your target. instead your lift a sword for those who cannot. you are born for the honor of the grayskull

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