Spring 2271

I woke up earlier than I wanted to. The day was just barely starting. The sun was just beginning to show itself. Its gold spilling in through the open window. The air still smells like dew and soil. Earthy, cold, and clean.

Standing in front of the cracked mirror, half-dressed in the soft light of early morning, I let the clothes hang between my fingers and stared. Outside, the world was still hushed—just birds and the whisper of wind slipping through my open window.

My reflection stared back, familiar and strange all at once.

I’d grown taller over the years, though still not as tall as Mama. My shoulders and arms, once narrow and bony, had filled in—not from ease, but from effort. I traced the faint jagged scar on my forearm—my first stitches. I chuckle as I remember the hell I caused that day. Aiden was furious, but taught me how to close wounds. Calluses dusted my palms like old ghosts. A yellow bruise bloomed along my side like a piece of abstract art, and a thin white line curved near my hipbone. All reminders of clumsy lessons and lived days.

I turned to see all of me.

So many muscles now, sculpted by chores and training. Even my face had changed—sharper, less childlike. My jaw more defined, my eyes—still gold and green—watched with quiet calculation, shadowed by truths I didn’t always speak aloud.

I wasn’t just some scrappy, scrawny kid anymore.

I was a woman. Mama called that a blessing. I called it a hassle.

My hourglass shape might look good to some, but I didn’t care for how my bust got in the way. I had to bind myself just to train comfortably. I begin to twist up my long hair, the strands slipping between my fingers like silk and shadow. I braid it every morning—it’s tradition now. I only use my hairpins on quiet days. Hot springs. Celebrations. Sometimes, I catch myself imagining how I’d look with it all gone. Easier, simpler, cleaner.

Maybe, but for now, it works.

My gaze lingered on my neck. My fingers touched the old scar—one from before Mama, before the Borough. Before everything. The last time my hair had been cut, they’d slipped and sliced my neck. My parents had called me flawed after that. At least, that’s what the guards had said. I’m not sure what the truth is. For all I know they might have tried to off me or just wanted a reason to be rid of me.

Near my collarbone, the birthmark stood out—darker than the rest of my skin, like smeared paint. Brennen had once shown me a book filled with myths and ghost stories. I’d memorized the section on birthmarks.

“The site of the killing blow,” it read.

“A mark left from another life. A soul’s memory of how it ended before.”

I remember touching the mark, wondering.

Maybe I died there, once.

Maybe I was someone else.

But this life? This one belongs to me. All these scars and marks upon my flesh, they shaped me into who I am.

I ran my finger over the small scar at the corner of my lip.

A memory flickered. Mama Bear brushing my hair from my face, both of us curled close beside the fire. We reminisced for so long last night. We traded stories until silence became it’s own kind of comfort.

“You don’t see it, but you’ve grown,” she had whispered. “Not just taller. Wiser. Braver. Kinder, too—even when you try not to be.”

I’d only hummed, too tired to argue.

But her words lingered, settling deep.

I exhaled.

I grabbed the long cloth from my bed and began wrapping my chest for chores and training. Pulled on the long-sleeved shirt Mama had patched and Micah had reinforced at the elbows. “You lean into danger too damn much.” I smiled at that, tugging on my pants, fingers automatically starting the braid—

But I stopped halfway through.

I looked in the mirror. Really looked at myself.

“…Screw it.” Down the creaky stairs I go. Fast and deliberate, probably would’ve woken the neighbors if we had any. I didn’t mean to be so loud and clunky.

Downstairs, I rummaged through my pack, grabbed my knife, and headed back up. Mama was quietly reading and drinking tea in the kitchen. She paused her reading and glanced at me, eyes curious as I passed. She said nothing, but I could feel her eyes on my back. I knew the creak of the stairs, knew she was following behind me.

“Okay,” I mutter. “Here goes.”

I gather my hair in a ponytail, thick and heavy in my fist. A moment of hesitation—then I slice.

Hair falls in ragged clumps. Onto the floor. Onto my toes.

I closed my eyes.

A breath. A pause. A weight lifted—literally and otherwise.

The mirror blurs as my eyes sting. Not from sadness—just the release. A breath leaves my chest like I’ve been holding it for years. One peek. Then I shut my eyes again.

Shit. What did I just do?

I open them fully.

The left side hangs near my jaw. The right still brushes my collar. Crazy tufts sticking out. It’s choppy. Uneven. Bold. Free.

I laugh and heard Mama laugh too, soft from the doorway.

“Morning.” I grin at her like a child. Happy and carefree.

“I didn’t expect that,” she said, walking in behind me, still holding her tea. “You always keep me on my toes.”

She set the cup down and stood behind me.

“I’ll grab the scissors. That hack job needs help.”

She paused at the door, smirking. “Shorter hair suits you.”

I turned back to the mirror. Yeah—it was shorter than I meant, but… I didn’t mind. I ran my hands through it. Wild, uneven, free.

It felt good. I continue to play with it while she goes to get the scissors. Running my hands through, putting it half up, enjoying the feel of it. Turning in the mirror to see it from the back.

Mama returned and held up the scissors. “Never done this before. You sure?”

“Please. It can’t end up worse than this mess.”

We both laughed. I laughed so hard I snorted. Which sent up into another fit of laughter.

This wasn’t how I meant to start the day, wasn’t in any sort of plan I had for myself, but I was glad this is how it turned out.

I pulled the chair over from the corner of the room and sat down. Then she got to work.

“I’m not aiming for perfect,” she said, “just trying to make it look like you meant to do this.” She trimmed the longer side, blended the uneven bits, layered the ends. Some strands framed my face with soft, messy charm. Just long enough for a half up half down do. Still functional, still me.

When she finished, she stepped back.

“There. What do you think?”

“Much better. Thanks, Mama.” I stood and hugged her. “Sorry about the mess.”

“I’m not worried about it.” She picked up her tea again. “I’ve got a meeting with the boys in a bit anyway.” She started to walk away, then turned back at me. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to meet them this morning too.”

“Oh, right.” I was in my own little world, I forgot.

“Don’t shock them too badly when you get there.” She winked at me.

I watched her go. When the door shut, I turned back to the mirror.

The morning light spilling in, soft and pale. I stood quietly. Breathing.

Something inside me settled. This… this felt right.

I peeled off my clothes again—not out of vanity, but need. I needed to see. To recognize. To clarify.

Broad shoulders. A solid waist. Hips that sway with power. I shift my weight and feel the give and pull of my body, grounded and steady. My skin still hums from sleep, warm where the blanket rested and cool where the air brushes against it. I run my fingers down my side, over old scars and new freckles, tracing the story I carry in skin and muscle.

I reach up and tangle my hand in my hair—thicker than it used to be, there’s a beautiful shine to it now. I tug it forward, let it fall around my face, framing my cheeks and collarbones. It’s darker at the roots now. Wilder. A little sun-bleached. A little uneven. But it’s mine. Every curl and snarl. I hold it half up and turn, looking to see what it looks like with different styles. I just smile.

I turn, slow and deliberate, and catch sight of myself in the mirror. The light is soft, pouring in through the curtain—just enough to highlight the shape of me. My chest rises, bare, unhidden. I rest my palm there—firm, warm, real. I breathe in deep and feel the solid push of ribs, lungs, heart. I don’t want to hide. I want to feel. The weight. The strength.

This is my body. It’s always been mine. But now—I know it.

My curves don’t apologize anymore. They take up space. They draw lines. They speak first. Hips, soft and strong, that lead when I walk. Legs that have carried me through fire and frost. Arms that have held, fought, healed. I watch the muscles shift beneath my skin as I move, slow and fluid. Like I’m dancing just for me.

The scars I used to hide catch the light like silver threads, stitching me back into myself. The shape of my jaw. The curve of my spine. Even the slouch in my shoulders from long hours hunched over tools or books—I love that, too. It’s honest. It’s mine.

Curves that once felt like camouflage now feel like a statement. Bold. Honest. A declaration. I let the morning light spill over the landscape of me—the dips and hollows, the ridges and swells. I am not hiding anymore. Not for them. Not for safety. Not even for me.

And in the mirror, I see me.

Not the scrawny sickly kid that showed up here eight years ago.

Not a ghost.

Not a stranger.

Just me.

And I love her.

I got dressed again and whistled out the open window. Ambrose landed a moment later, already fed and preening. I stroked his feathers.

“Morning. I’ll be heading out shortly.”

I pause. I feel a familiar itch. I’ll go in a few more minutes, this short amount of time won’t change the schedules for the day. I find my journal. I need to write for a few minutes.

I sit down on the bed. Pen hovering above the pages. Ambrose watching me closely.

Marks of Resilience

Getting up,

Walking towards the mirror,

I silently observe myself.

I see you,

I feel you,

I know you,

We are one.

But you,

You are my past self.

Through it all,

I’m finally becoming me.

The woman I’ve always thought,

Would be too far away.

We still share a reflection,

A soul,

But now we are balanced.

My skin will tell my stories,

Add to my strength,

My beauty,

Which I’m not longer afraid to say.

These scars became my armor.

This is MY body,

Mind,

And soul.

No one,

Can take that from me again.

My stomach growled and I laughed. I guess I shouldn’t put off leaving anymore, it’s time to face the world. I wonder what they will think of the new me. Downstairs, I grabbed a pouch of treats for Ambrose, swiped some fruit off the counter, and stepped outside.

Crisp air filled my lungs. Smoke curled from chimneys. A dog barked. Somewhere, someone chopped wood. The borough was waking up.

I waved to a few early risers on my way to the Belly. Adults were heading off to chores. Children still wiping sleep from their eyes.

Inside, all eyes turned to me. It’s not the first time and I’m sure it won’t be the last.

Mama and the boys sat at the usual table. The room fell quiet.

“Morning,” I said casually, walking past the stares to the food line. You’d think I was covered in paint or glitter or dyed my hair neon. It was just a haircut.

At the window, Kal grinned. “Well, good morning, Jo! Love the new do.” She winked and passed me a breakfast tray.

“Thanks, Kal.” I smiled, then grabbed a drink and found a quiet seat—until I caught a few whistles.

I turned and glared. I even stuck out my tongue at the boys. “You guys got a problem?” I looked straight at them. They paused, but didn’t answer. Just made faces back at me. “Well, if you do, meet me at the grit grounds later.”

Their eyes went wide and skin went pale. That made them shut up real quick. They know they can’t beat me in a one on one spar.

I moved my tray beside Mama instead.

She smirked and ran her fingers through my hair. “Do you regret it yet?”

“Not at all.” I grinned, digging into my food.

“What’s on the docket today, guys?”

There wasn’t an answer so I looked up. They were still staring.

“Okay, I get it,” I laughed. “Big change. Not that big.”

Brennen snorted. “Looks good. Almost as dramatic as me.”

I rolled my eyes.

Mama came to my defense. “It suits her. Less of a hassle.”

Aiden cleared his throat. “Just… different, that’s all.”

“As for today—you’re at the medics’ hold for a bit, then sparring.” He looked to Jamie.

Jamie nodded. “Yep.”

Aiden added, “Some girls keep asking when you’ll be there. They won’t talk to me—just pop in, call your name, and leave when you don’t respond.”

“Weird. Hopefully they show up again.” I think of what they might need. I have a good idea, but I’ll see what happens later. We continue to chit chat and eat our breakfast.

The Belly started to filled with noise. Clattering, chattering, and warmth. Kids tumbled in from Pillow Fort HQ, lead by Jasper and the other older kids. A few of them seemed more than hungry, more like they are hangry. The room continued to fill with chatter, and slowly, things felt normal again.

The boys finished their meals and scattered off to their stations. I stretched and carried my tray over.

“Thanks for breakfast,” I told the kitchen crew.

The sun was fully up. I took the long way to the hold. Smelled the flowers in broken tubs and wheelbarrows. I stopped to see the ladies working at Thread and Thistle, peeked in at The Root Yard to see what projects they were up too and the carpenters. It was good just to stop by and say hello.

The morning felt fresh. Light.

At the medics’ hold, I opened the door and heard the tinkle of the little bell. Aiden popped out of the office.

“Thanks for helping out front!” he called, already turning away.

“No problem! I’m going to go get Ambrose settled, then I’ll be back in.

I walked up the small stairs to the herb garden above. There was a small home Aiden had built for my friend. I whistled. He swoops down, wings flaring, feathers catching the light.

“Hey, you.” I scratch his neck, give him a treat. “Be good. Catch some rodents in the herb garden.” He coos, I think he likes that idea. I gave him a few more gentle strokes before heading back in.

It was a quiet start to the day—just tidying, labeling dried herbs, restocking bandages.

The bell chimed again behind me.

“Welcome in,” I said, wiping my hands on my apron. “How can I help—”

I turned to see a small group of girls at the door, all shifting shyly. One was already in tears, another looked like she might start bawling shortly. They all looked scared.

I wipe my hands on my apron, smile big and step forward to greet them.