Story:

She was never meant to be delicate. She bloomed with barbs, weathered with warning. While others bowed to silence, she crowned herself in thorns - a shield forged from past wounds a halo shaped by storms. They said her softness would save her. She knew better. It was the thunder in her bones that kept her alive. Not loud. Not angry. Just true. And that was enough to the shake the sky.

Spell:

I do not kneel. I do not break. From thorn and storm, my strength I take. A crown of ache, a will of flame, I wear my scars, I claim my name. Let thunder roll and silence flee - there’s no soft cage that holds wild me. By bolt and blood, I rise above, a tempest wrapped in torn and love.