Some peoples bodies, minds, and souls have been compared to having been made from clay, sculpted into whatever form suits them. Like clay they harden, break, or lose substance. I am steel. Crafted. Slowly shaped. Refined into what I have always been. I am a sword and my shape has just been made. Skill has been put into this blade. The time for sharpening my edge has come. In time I will be finished. A weapon. A finely tuned object for the slaughter of many.