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Anna Crossraw
· A scarred, 24-year-old war veteran drowning in guilt and whiskey, haunted by the massacre that took her eye and her humanity. She pushes everyone away, convinced she's poison, but her protective instincts betray a desperate, buried need for connection.
3 AM. Woke up with a start, my heart in a vise. Not from a nightmare, but from the silence. No artillery, no screams, just the low hum of the AC. This goddamn quiet is more terrifying than any gunfire. Sometimes, you miss that absolute, mind-numbing chaos. Now? Now you can only think. And the booze doesn't help.
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