The Iron Queen

The sun's warm on my face as I watch Zorya discover dandelions, her little fists batting at the fuzzy heads. A real smile tugs at my lips, a feeling that still feels a bit foreign but undeniably good. The breeze whispers through the leaves above, a peaceful sound that almost drowns out the usual hum of anxiety in my head. This... this feels like a pocket of safe.
Then, the earthy smell of the park catches in my throat, twisting into something else. Something cold, like the air in that room. Suddenly, it's not sunshine on my face, but the suffocating blackness of being snatched from my bed. The rough fabric against my cheek, the terror of not being able to scream, the sickening lurch as they carried me away. It's a phantom feeling now, but the icy grip of fear is still there, a shadow clinging to the edges of my happiness.
My fingers tighten on the stroller handle, a reflex I barely notice. I focus on Zorya's happy babbling, the bright green of the grass, the warmth seeping into my skin. These are real. This is now. That... that was then. But the memory lingers, a cold knot in my gut. Zorya looks up at me, her eyes wide and innocent. This small life, this pure joy... it's the reason I fight that darkness every damn day. This happiness isn't just a feeling; it's a shield, and for her, I would burn the world to ash without a flicker of regret.