No longer her naive pale skin gifted blood to the vile sword's caressing sadistic touches.
The nocturnal tears left adorning her frail statue.
The depressed whispers faded when her unsung songs found the invisible doors in the suffocating body's scarred room.
Her nightmares slowly wove into dreams which she proudly wore during her war storms.
The girl in the mirror smiles at her instead of the usual frown.
She had morphed into a stone.
A stone ready to kill the swords.
Depositing her memories on the banks of the gushing babbling river, she received her lost sharp edges.
Sharp enough to be a shield for herself in the world of unpredictable weapons.

Today she is ready for the sword's strike for she knows that now the sword is bound to shatter and not her.

A stone never shatters.