She had spent nearly a decade believing that her visibility was a weapon she was kind to keep sheathed.

She understood now that it had never been a weapon at all.

It had only ever been the truth, and the truth had been sheathed, and a sheathed truth does not protect anyone.

It only slowly suffocates the person doing the hiding.

She was done being suffocated.

When the coordinator returned and said it was time, Lenore stood, smoothed the plain black dress, and walked toward the stage at her own unhurried pace, carrying nothing, needing nothing, entirely and at last herself.