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It felt like she was preparing for war. Her body ached to throw in a few punches. But no, she had to stay composed. Her ethics had to command her every move, her every thought. Heart over mind, she confirmed. She wouldn’t fight even if provoked. She wouldn’t growl or snarl. Yet, she felt like she was preparing for war. A war she was far too exhausted to take part in. A war she felt she wasn’t ready for.

‘You are as ready as you will ever be,’ a friendly voice encouraged.

But wars were messy and along with the actual damage the collateral damage bothered her. The actual damage was eventually dealt with at least. But everyone lost sight of the collateral losses. She thought fighting wasn’t in her genes. But nobody revived their dying morals. Nobody even seemed to care that morality had died. People around either fled or stayed on to prepare. She couldn’t flee; there was too much at stake. She couldn’t fight; there was too much to lose. She was torn between her choice or lack of choice.

It felt like war and she was uneasy preparing for it. She could be apathetic, like many others. But then again, she couldn’t. If she didn’t fight actively, she would perhaps be part of the collateral damage.

It, probably, was a war. She didn’t like it, but she had to prepare.