Short story: A witch among conformers.
She didn't know what had to be done. But she knew what should be done. She had the right of it all, that much she was sure. And her right was the right but those around her couldn't tell. How could they have peeped into what was happening in her mind. They were more or less of the same age. But she felt she was more experienced. She read a lot, had traveled more, had lived in more places. For her, they were the ultimate mark of conforming. She was creative. They were simply created, manipulated into a filtered version of the truth, and forgotten. She didn't oppose them for they didn't oppose her always. She knew she wasn't helping much in balancing the equations, because she was not sure how to oppose. Not for the lack of try, she was always more stubborn and better at arguments, she thought that once she let her storm out they'd be engulfed to never be the same. She wasn't a believer, especially in spirit science but such amount of entropy would mean recklessness. So she confided to being a little reckless herself for the greater good. She would leave them to their misery soon. She saw no point in arguing, hence. And with this knowledge she made her peace.
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