The arrogant army loses the fight.

The arrogant army loses the fight.

If Cho is made of bitterness, she will have nothing but bitterness. This is what her father says, when she is young - if you can't pick yourself up afterward, love is meaningless. One thing sprouts from another. Still, she was and is arrogant enough to believe her suffering can change the world. Loneliness is the catalyst for much of history; people do what they must, and every person on the planet is selfish. Cain and Abel, Madame Mao Jiang Ching, General Custer. History is rewritten every moment, with every separate thought - this is what she battles with now, and what will defeat her later.

Being like her mother means that Cho will be beautiful forever; she will always know how to make herself up, and she has the flawlessness that comes only once a generation. Moon face is what they call it in the dark corners of her private life - steeped in characters she cannot read, syllables perpetually more meaningless, and black hair that will never hold a curl. Cho is not Chinese anymore, and hasn't ever been - not really. That's why she can smirk at her father's proverbs, and his muted history can mean nothing, nothing at all. It is as insubstantial as that bitterness, the same bitten lip he rebukes in her. When the arrogant army loses the fight, they go home and put red lipstick on. Their hair shines like polished glass, strong enough to choke any man.

Any.

The problem with Cho is that even after months of slowly growing back her chopped limbs, she can sink swiftly backward in time before she even realises. Straight into mourning again, which by now is as familiar as her own favorite pair of shoes. Comfortable. It is like returning to a cocoon; when it comes over her, she spends hours alone, crying. In front of people, crying. Crying into her mango sorbet. Crying over owls she must write to friends, apologising for her disappearance. Cho has probably seen London in every light, simply wandering away from Cedric's ghost. Hell, she's seen Hogwarts in every light - one minute you are loved, and the next you are nothing.

And it's ridiculous. It really is. It's immature. But people grieve differently, her father reminds her. You have to have faith. It could take years, but it will pass.

I have faith, she remembers sighing, exasperated. I have more faith in myself than anyone else.

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