You're still a victim when you wake up from your sleep trembling from the ghosts of finger burned trails into your skin.
Gasping for air, choked by the weight of a world made where these monsters in man's skin will never be at fault.
Their breath still lingers.
Their plague still taking what was never theirs to take.
"You should've screamed, you should've cried, you should've told." Your mother tells you.
Pleading for the mercy of Athena but being scorned for the blight instead.
The last of your beauty being stripped of you by the end of a fingertip and your crown now a bed of serpents.
What felt like your only gavel, was a blade forced into your hands by a tyrant you could never bring yourself to use.
You're still a victim, but you shouldn't feel like a criminal.
