The town awoke to the thunder of boots at dawn. Women, cloaked in patched uniforms and carrying rusted rifles, marched from the hills with fire in their eyes.
Once dismissed as wives, mothers, and widows, they now strode like stormclouds across the cobblestones, banners painted with ash and blood. Men who had laughed at their defiance shrank into doorways, suddenly small beneath the weight of their courage.
They sang as they advanced, voices sharp enough to cut iron, and the air trembled with the promise of reckoning. By dusk, the old order would remember what it meant to be afraid.
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"suddenly small beneath the weight of their courage" - what a line 👏. This is how I enter October.
"They sang as they advanced, voices sharp enough to cut iron."
What a chilling and powerful image, love how you packed that much force into so few words.