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Champion

She always smells like ashes. He knows she washes each morning while she stays at the temple, and wonders if Oblivion has forever sunk into her skin. He can see it behind her eyes, glimpses like reflected nightmares, when she is tired and her guard drops.

He knows he will ask her to face it again and again, until it is finally over. He knows she will do it without complaint, again and again. He hates himself for it, because he knows she doesn't.

He hates her for that, just a little, because each time it is harder to ask.