Yukina stood at the edge of the silent, shimmering lake, the only sound being the rhythmic, heavy rush of the waterfall crashing into the basin nearby.
The air in this part of the forest was damp and cool, smelling of wet earth and moss, but the atmosphere felt thick with the weight of her history.
She exhaled a long, shaky breath that misted in the air, her eyes filled with a turbulent mix of nostalgia, shame, and a burgeoning, iron-clad resolve as she gazed into the water.
She began to methodically peel away her layers of clothing, dropping them onto a mossy root. Stripped down to a black sports bra and cycling shorts, she revealed the canvas of her body—a body that had been both her curse and her liberation.
She stepped into the frigid water, the cold biting at her ankles, and then her knees, as she waded further in.
This was the anchor. This was the exact spot where her old self had died and something far more jagged and resilient had been born.
