Penelope's POV
"Dear… come here for a moment. How long will you keep swinging that sword without rest?" My mother's voice trembled as she called out, worry tightening across her face while her eyes remained fixed on me, watching every movement as I continued to swing the sword with a stubborn, unyielding resolve.
My arms moved in steady arcs, the wooden blade cutting through the air again and again.
Huff!
Huff!
Huff!
My breath came out ragged, my body drenched in sweat that clung to my skin and dripped to the ground beneath my feet.
My shoulders burned, my palms throbbed, yet my grip never loosened, as though letting go would mean losing something far more important than strength.
This was not desperation... This was hope!
I knew what I was now.
Someone with nothing, someone the world had already decided was insignificant.
Yet even then, that did not feel like the end. Not after what Father told me on that quiet night when my dreams had nearly faded into nothing.
