Fighting without hope is no way to live.
It's just a way to die.
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strikeoflightning: ({Depression})
{It's late at night - it might even be bordering on early morning - and Lightning is sitting in her kitchen, holding a mug of steaming tea between her hands. Her head is bowed, emphasizing how long her pink hair has gotten. She glances at the strands occasionally, her brow furrowing.}

I am in need of a hair-cut. {While she doesn't doubt that she could get it to a feasible length, she wonders if it would look good. It takes skill and practice to style hair.}

The last time I wore my hair this long, I was only a child. {And some memories are best left alone. She takes a generous sip of tea and swallows it, letting the heat burn her tongue and throat.}

I pretend to have unwavering strength; I have been granted a chance for redemption by one of the gods of my world. That chance gave me confidence and hope in the future.

{Her fingers flex around her tea cup and her expression is troubled. The gifts Etro gave her haven't translated well to Luceti.}

What will Luceti's future hold? Will all of our efforts be rewarded? Regardless of the answer, I cannot - will not - admit defeat. My future holds my family and my friends.

{It's probably clear that she lives alone. Her house is very quiet.}

We will be joined in a world without war and devastation. I will keep the Chaos in check.
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