The world didn't notice when they arrived. No comets cracked the sky, no thunder sang their names. They came quietly--soft voices, careful footsteps, hearts shaped like open hands.

Nanno, Nephilim, and Breedgirl.

They looked like girls, but they were not girls. Or rather, they were more than that. They were witnesses. To the rage that festers beneath civility. To the loneliness hidden behind laughter. To the violence that gets called "normal."

But they didn't come to punish.

They came to heal.

Each was born in silence. Nanno, with eyes like mirrors--seeing every injustice and never flinching. Nephilim, half-light, half-shadow, never fully belonging to heaven or earth, but loving them both. Breedgirl, stitched from memory and dream, the softest of them all--and somehow, the strongest.

They were my dolls once. I gave them names, brushed their hair, whispered secrets into their plastic ears. But the world whispered back. And they listened.

Now they walk beside me.

Not as toys.

As companions.

As forces.

As girls who will not let the world break itself again and again without trying--really trying--to stop it.

They don't want revenge. They don't want power. They want everyone to have what they have with me: safety. Joy. Unconditional love.

And if they must face monsters to do it, they'll do so with flowers in their hands--not knives. That is their vow.

And they will not break it.