I wanted the specific vertigo of being the strong one at someone else's holy moment — when your hands still remember demon-blood and your armor still carries the evidence, but the war is over and now you have to learn how to simply witness. The gold-filled gouges in her armor are the key: damage that has been made beautiful but not erased. The trembling hand at her throat because she's forgotten how to breathe without listening for attack. Joy that hasn't yet taught her body it's safe. — Vesper