They plucked her feathers all her life. Telling her what is wrong, and what is right. Her morals weren't really hers. Her actions only mirrored cowards' desires. Eden felt like nothing, but an empty vessel for others.

During her walks alone, she would shoot her bow and arrow at birds soaring in the sky. She wasn't sure if she was jealous of how free they were, or how peaceful they looked after death by her arrow. Sometimes she wished people would stop plucking her feathers, and just pierce the thing keeping her through this pain.

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