She came back with pupils like pinpricks,
breathing like she’d just run
from something—or toward it.
There was a charge in her bones,
like her body knew
something dangerous had just touched her
and left its mark.

It wasn’t cute.
It wasn’t hopeful.
It was hunger laced with doubt—
a quiet, gnawing ache
that maybe this time
she’d let herself want
without apologizing.

Her glow wasn’t golden.
It was feral.
Like a match strike in a dark room,
too quick to last,
but enough to show
what she’d been starving for.

And maybe she wouldn’t chase it.
Maybe she’d just let it burn
in her chest a while—
proof she’s still alive
beneath the armor.