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[Hands: Drabble}
Her hands, calloused and rough from training, from fighting for others, were always outstretched, ready to help those in need. Her hands, though her fingers no longer sat straight, from careless breaks, from torture, were steady and strong. Her hands, red with blood of those killed by her mistakes, her childish need for validation, could never be clean, no matter how long she scrubbed them.
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