Prologue
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People knew who she was. There was no way they couldn't know who she was. She wasn't the kind of ordinary that goes unnoticed. No, she was far from ordinary, or unnoticeable. She had been places, done things and had the kind of qualities that prevented her from being ordinary.

She had been to the galaxy's most horrific prison, a special kind of hell, and had walked out of it, thriving. She had saved countless lives with her ability to think on her feet. She had started a war, a war born out of something personal, a grudge. Those who had seen her in the rage of a firefight described her as fearless. Described her as unshakeable.

Even the Spartans had a respect for her. Those that the Spartans would consider friend were few and far between, but she was one of them. It was rumor that she had once fought the Master Chief and won. It was truth that they often sought each other's company, to talk and to spend time with one another in the way that close companions do. There were so few others who had such a privilege, but that she was one of them surprised no one.

There were those that dared to say that even Dr. Halsey had a certain admiration of her and all that she had accomplished in her young life thus far.

When she walked into a room, people immediately noticed her. She was tall, very tall. Taller than a human should be, almost as tall as a Spartan. She was not a statuesque beauty, though. She was built solidly, as if built to subdue any enemy that may try their hand at attacking her. But she was beautiful, in a dangerous sort of way. Her lips were not full, nor sensual, but they had a certain character to them that rendered them alluring, regardless. The subtle twin scars that adorned each side of her mouth gave her face a rugged character that seemed to allude to a hardness in her, an adaptability that led her to live with such disfisgurement, and transform it into majesty. Her teeth, when she smiled, were not the kind of straight, white human teeth, they seemed almost sharp and savage. It gave her a connotation of being a kind of predator, hunting down those who would cross her. Her eyes seemed brown, on the surface, but they crackled and burned with a light that turned them a color one couldn't quite name. Her hair was long, and though it could be described as a simple brunette, her hair was something shimmering and sensual that rendered the word "brunette" inadequate. She stood out in a crowd, if only for the way she carried herself, for the way she walked, a way that couldn't quite be described, but was something not typical. People were drawn to her, and there were those that desired her. But it was said that her heart belonged to someone she had known since her childhood, someone that none could equal. She and her lover had that in common. None could equal her, either. None could carry themselves the way she did, achieve what she'd achieved, put forth the demeanor that she had. She was the kind of person you'd never thought would exist in reality, but the kind of person that lives only in legend.

But If you told her all of what was previously mentioned, of the way people saw her, of the way they talked of her, of the way she seemed to the rest of the universe, she would only respond with something along the lines of "Are you fucking high? Fuck no. People only talk because I'm a fucking shitshow. Get out of here with your bullshit."