War Alone

She never did like peace much.  It was a nice reprieve but the real beauty was in the chaos.
When her pulse raced beneath her skin.
When her hair stood on end.
When her breaths came in quick succession.
When her vision sharpened and her hands were quick.
That was the moment she lived for.  In that moment, she felt quite acutely the reality of life and the pang of existence.  It was then that she was at her finest; when every instinct kicked in and instead of a clumsy mess, she was an instrument of pain and vengeance.

She felt the tingle in her spine and the knot in her stomach and let out a sharp, dark laugh.  They had made a terrible mistake, bringing this to her.  They would pay with their lives.

From every angle, came arrows, flying through the air, aimed for critical points.  They hardly mattered, she was a machine.  She was created for this.  Let them come.
But she wasn't fighting enemies, she realized as the fog of battle dispersed.  These were friends.  These were trusted faces.  The realization caught like a lump in her throat.  She stumbled, thrown by betrayal and a rouge arrow slit her arm open.

Letting out a pained, disturbing cry, she fought harder.  But her mind was whirling and her hands were sloppy.  For every two attacks she fended off, one caught her by surprise, nicking her somewhere, somehow.

The tears came as she realized how alone she was.  Rage, hurt, and anger buoyed her strength and she tore through their defenses.  Even if she won, she wouldn't have really won at all.  She wouldn't exit this one unscathed.  She was fighting this war alone.