She fought dragons from the time she was born.

She would roam the plains and hold her sword up high.

She would dash about and rescue villages from the loathsome flames.

She was killing giants when she was eight.

She would play the part of David.

She saved many from the Nephilim with just a few stones.

She was flying in space when she was ten.

She would blow up asteroids that drifted too close to home.

She went to all of her worlds and back in just a week.

She fought for her freedom when she was eleven.

She broke the chains of childhood dreams.

She wrote all those adventures down to tell them to her children.

They saved her when she was twelve.

They saved her from a monster.

They helped her hide inside herself and shielded her from the pain.

She slayed the monster when she was fifteen.

She gloated over his corpse.

She revealed in his pain as he had done so many times.

She dove into the pit of darkness when she was sixteen.

Her golden hair changed to black.

Her happy mind turned glum.

She fought that spring.

She fought to release the child within.

She slayed the dragon holding her dreams captive in a single tower.

She recorded all those stories.

She wrote them down for herself.

"You’re a child hero," people now say, because she still lives.