My body is a shrine of sacrifices I never consented to. Every joint is a hex-hinge. Every tear is a distilled mana potion. When I bleed, the wounds glow—pretty, like neon pink ribbons—and the enemy thinks I'm still fighting. But really? I'm just a puppet with too many strings, and the puppeteer is a committee of dead mages who wired my nerves like a bomb.
The erosion of self in exchange for power. Mystic Lune has undergone so many arcane body and soul modifications (crystal organs, lunar-metal bones, memories fragmented into spell-fragments) that she no longer knows where the "original girl" ends and the "weapon" begins. Title: The Hollow Womb of the Moon extreme-modification-magical-girl-mystic-lune
So yes, I am powerful. I can unmake a city's memory of itself with a gesture. I can rewrite a monster's origin story so it never hated us—it just forgot it loved. My body is a shrine of sacrifices I never consented to