But as the General reached for the polished steel, a voice like serrated glass shattered the solemnity of the field. “You don’t deserve to wear that uniform!” Before the Military Police could react, my stepbrother, Ethan, lunged forward. He didn’t just shout; he acted with a lifetime of fermented malice. He ripped the saber from the General’s hands, the heavy steel handguard slamming into my left hand with a sickening crack. White-hot agony surged up my arm, and I watched, detached by shock, as my pristine white dress glove bloomed with a grotesque crimson flower. The crowd of hundreds froze....
Continues…