text: Once upon a time, in a kingdom long forgotten, a girl was born in a suit of armor. Her name was Clang. This was not unusual. It was a dark era, fraught with violence, and the world needed warriors. To be born with armor was considered a great blessing, for it secured her a place amongst the kingdom’s greatest knights. The armor was silver, and covered her whole body from head to foot. It glimmered in sunlight like a freshwater pearl. There were little slits carved in the helmet for her to peer out of, and a sheath for a sword at the waist. Blades and arrows bounced off her as if she was made of stone. If a blow managed to dent it, the armor would mend itself like broken skin. But there was one problem. Though the armor grew with her, it never fit properly. When she took her first steps, clanking across the floor, the greaves pinched and nipped at her heels. Clang fell down in a heap, and cried and cried until her mother came to rescue her. “Oh, my sweet little knight,” her mother had cooed. “The proudest knights are forged in hardship. You’ll learn how to balance all that weight, eventually, and then you’ll be the greatest warrior that ever lived.” And balance she did. She spent hours practicing how to walk, so that the armor would no longer pinch her. She learned to stifle the winces of pain that others could not see. She no longer rattled and creaked with every step, but rather strode with the poise of a knight. Her whole village would come to see her practice on the dueling ground. As Clang wove her way through sword and shield alike, they would think to themselves, “Surely she must be amongst the kingdom’s greatest knights. What honor she will bring to her family, and to us!” All was good, they agreed. All was well. So what if the armor chafed her wrists and ankles until they were bloody raw? So what if the armor cracked and broke when no one was looking? Both children and warriors know instinctively to hide their weaknesses. Clang would often shut herself in her room until her armor mended itself. She knew in her heart that broken armor is not something to show the world. Once, as a child, Clang tried to take off the armor. She had wanted to if her skin was pale like the clockmaker’s boy, who seemed allergic to the sun and spent every summer indoors. She chipped away at her leg until a sliver of skin was exposed. It was the color of warm tea and softly fuzzed like a kiwi. Clang giggled while running her finger along her leg. It tickled! “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Clang dropped her sword in surprise. Her mother was angrier than she’d ever seen her before, angrier than when she had carelessly broken their prized glass window. “I - I wanted to see what color my skin was. I didn’t know anything could be so soft!” “Silly girl. You’re the same color as your father and mother, you know that. It’s unseemly for you to tarnish so great a blessing. Do you know how many people would do anything to wear armor like yours? What would the other families think if they saw you like that?” Clang learned to be grateful. She accepted a posting in the queen’s army, and fought bravely in many battles. She brought home to her family lavender and silver coins and other expensive things. The whole village grew used to the lavishness she bestowed upon them. A marriage was arranged between her and a Queen’s guard with copper plate. In sunlight, the two of them arm in arm were almost too bright to look at. Clang didn’t know the color of his eyes or the shape of his smile. Her parents were unbelievably happy. For a time, it seemed to all that she was invincible. She almost believed it was true. But the weakness of all armor, even the kind you are born with, has always been the person inside. It happened in battle, while she and her fellow knights were buried in muck and mire. One of her comrades, a boy in sky blue armor, had removed a gauntlet from his fist. It seemed impossible - the armor they wear is seamless, and cannot be undone. And yet there he stood, holding a pale, vulnerable fist up to the light. Laughing, armor falling to the ground forgotten, the boy ran between swords and mailed fists as if they did not exist. He was beautiful. She could not help but stare and gawk. It was a different kind of strength - the kind that does not fight wars, but stops them. It seemed she was the only one who felt that way. Anger was written on the faces of her fellow knights, not surprise. More than one of the blades that hacked at the boy were swung by former allies. “What foolishness”, they said. “What use is a sword not grasped? Armor not worn? Who would fight as they always had, if he did not?” The air was thick with their rage. Soon their eyes turned towards Clang. They seemed to ask, “Why do you not jeer with us? What are you?” Clang did not know what she was, nor what she should do. Seeing the boy had lit a cold fire in her belly. She didn’t know beautiful was something she could be. She didn’t know beautiful was something she could want to be. It hurt. It scared her, too, how quickly her curiosity spiraled into something more primal. A need she didn’t know she had. Suddenly, Clang could not breathe. She was confronted with a choice. She could keep on her armor; it was familiar, if not comfortable. Others certainly liked it. For a time, this is what she did. She wore her armor, polished it so that it gleamed softly and oiled its joints so that it moved with silent grace. But no matter how much it sparkled, it always looked lackluster compared to the human she wanted to be. When she was strong, and distracted, the suit was manageable. She got by. But it was in the dark moments, when the suit of armor seemed poor protection indeed against the feelings in her heart, that it became unbearable. The smell of oil and metal filled her mouth, and she wanted to gag. In private, Clang began to take it off. Initially, she needed to tear it open with her sword, but soon she found it fell off her body with ease. She found a whole world that was closed to her before - the feel of sand beneath her feet, the texture of stone, the glossiness of an apple. Her whole body was a riot of color and sensation. Without the armor to weigh her down, she was faster than ever before. She began to notice that she was not the only one who suffered. One night, standing guard for a wealthy merchant, she noticed two lovers sneaking across the grass - one armored, the other not. Clang wondered at their urgency. Without hope for a future, they made a lifetime of love fit into a few whispered words. There were others. A girl who snuck out at night to practice with a spear, and stared at Clang’s armor when she thought Clang wasn't looking. A knight who secretly confided to her that he would rather make music than fight. The simmering anger among farmers who could not raise weapons against the beasts and foul things that plagued their fields. Her fiance did not like that she took off her armor. “Where is the person I fell in love with?” he’d say. Though she tried, she could not convey to him that she was more herself than ever before. One day she found herself striding before the queen herself, armored only in courage. She was nervous, every thought a streak of lightning, every heartbeat a strumming thread of light. But there was no going back. The Queen was outraged. “What is the meaning of this facade? Where is the knight who brought us honor?” Clang bowed low, and held her sword aloft. “With you as always, my Queen.” “But how will you serve without armor? I do not need laymen and women - there are enough farmers and craftsmen in the world. I need warriors, and to shed your natural duties is not only dishonorable, it is deviant.” With a flick of her wrist, she commanded the knights of the court to drag her away. “Look how fast I am,” says Clang, dancing between spear and shield. Though she wore no armor, a sheen of magic covered her body. “Look at how brightly I shine!” She pleaded with the Queen. “I was born with armor, but not with the strength or skill of a warrior. I was not born with the wit that has led me to victory in so many battles. I was not born with the loyalty I have for you, my Queen - it was earned. I can serve the kingdom a hundred times better now that I am free.” It did not matter what she said. Though none of the knights of the court could touch her, she found it impossible to touch their minds in turn. Tradition, she discovered, is the strongest armor a person can possess. Clang was forced to retreat to the edges of the kingdom, hiding from the knights she once served alongside. But she was not alone. The legend of the knight who took off her armor spread from city to village and back again, until even the youngest child in the kingdom knew the name of Clang. Unrest grew. Candlelit conversations pondered the promise of freedom unclaimed. Some said that an unarmored woman claimed Clang’s armor. Others said that her fiance, stricken by grief, shed his armor and forsook his post to find her. There were rumors of Clang and the boy who once wore blue assembling an army to overthrow the Queen. All at once, the kingdom exploded in protest. Knights laid down their arms. Palaces burned, and there was violence in the dark of night. Many dreamed of a world where an individual could grow beyond the circumstances of their birth. Not everyone fought - not even most - but it was enough. The Queen relented. As people began to live more freely, the darkness in the world receded. The world no longer needed people in armor, and as generations passed less men and women were born with it. Instead, children brought into the world strange and beautiful things, as if they reflected the changing course of human history. Clang never returned to the kingdom. Some say she continued to fight for freedom in other lands and other times. Others say she and her fiance found one another, and spent the rest of their lives in peace. All agree, however, that she continued her first, final, and only pursuit - being unapologetically human.