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Worn.
Everything about her was worn. From the dented iron armour she wore to the old, scratched, greatsword strapped to her back, to the smile that lingered on her chapped and dry lips, and the warpaint peeling over her scarred skin.
Her scars… she’d given up keeping count of them as they’d accumulated time after time, fight after fight. They layered over each other, interconnecting, one jagged line leading to the other, an indelible record of the mistakes she’d made for everyone to see.
She first tried to hide them with warpaint, with bold strokes and dashes, to assuage her hurt vanity. But the warpaint stung, and then cracked, and then dried, and became worn as well, until everything about her was worn.
Everything about her was battered and bruised, but standing. Her armour had long since lost its shine, and there was a nick in the edge of her greatsword, but she took them into every fight. She traced the cracks in her lips and her skin with a finger and joked that they were a map for her to follow.
Everything about her was worn, except for her eyes.
They shone.
(I’ve finally made a Nord character I like. Swapped out the normal map I was using for the much smoother one from SG Textures. So meet Ygraine, a wandering mercenary. I don’t have anything planned for her - in my universe of characters, I already have an established Dovahkiin, so poor Ygraine will likely remain a footnote, and be written off with some ordinary death.)
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