New Flesh

Three months later.

The Foundry was loud. The sound of gloves hitting heavy bags echoed off the metal roof.

Sasha walked the line of students. Twenty women. Some young, some old. Some with bruises they were trying to hide, some just looking for confidence.

Sasha stopped in front of a young girl who was struggling with her stance. The girl flinched when Sasha approached.

"It's okay," Sasha said softly. She reached out with her healed hand. The scar on her neck was visible, unhidden. "Don't lock your knees. You need to be ready to move."

"I'm not strong enough," the girl whispered, looking at her own thin arms.

Sasha smiled. She touched the girl’s shoulder.

"Strength isn't about muscles," Sasha said. "It’s about what you do after you've been broken. It’s about how you put the pieces back together."

She adjusted the girl’s guard.

"Now," Sasha said, stepping back. "Show me what you can do."

The girl threw a punch. It was clumsy, but it was real.

Sasha watched her, feeling the ache in her thumb, the pull of the scar on her neck. They were part of her, yes. But they didn't define her. She wasn't a masterpiece of pain anymore. She was just Sasha.

And she was free.