Sona Mirio
T E C H B I R D
The pink-haired, cybernetic-heavy girl can be seen walking the hallway of the modest office building with strides slightly too fast for someone who claims to not fear any man.
Life has always been about making choices, and it will never be easy. Certainly not for Sona Mirio. Imagine climbing a spire you grew up dreaming about, admiring it from regrettable distance, and in the middle of the process, having the spire bombed into oblivion. That happened to the Tech-bird, both figuratively, and quite-almost literally.
You can’t help but learn to be suspicious of other spires, wary of other climbs, yet in Sona’s case, she quite-literally cannot afford to stay. Her gift made her a target.
So she flew ever-so far away. From the neon lights, the dream of every kid born in the underbelly of the Core, to abandoned stations and ghost towns, amongst spacers and rangers who love to crack crude jokes that would drove her old self to insanity. Yet they protect her like she’s one of them, and that’s the art of choice. A beggar can’t be choosers. Especially a beggar who still yearns to dream big.
If only the world was hers.
Or maybe it could be, as the so-called leader of the current outpost she’s residing in summoned her to the office.
Was it the good words her spacer friends had given after she help repair their heavily damaged ships and droids for the nth times?
Only time can answer.
Life has always been about making choices, and it will never be easy. Certainly not for Sona Mirio. Imagine climbing a spire you grew up dreaming about, admiring it from regrettable distance, and in the middle of the process, having the spire bombed into oblivion. That happened to the Tech-bird, both figuratively, and quite-almost literally.
You can’t help but learn to be suspicious of other spires, wary of other climbs, yet in Sona’s case, she quite-literally cannot afford to stay. Her gift made her a target.
So she flew ever-so far away. From the neon lights, the dream of every kid born in the underbelly of the Core, to abandoned stations and ghost towns, amongst spacers and rangers who love to crack crude jokes that would drove her old self to insanity. Yet they protect her like she’s one of them, and that’s the art of choice. A beggar can’t be choosers. Especially a beggar who still yearns to dream big.
If only the world was hers.
Or maybe it could be, as the so-called leader of the current outpost she’s residing in summoned her to the office.
Was it the good words her spacer friends had given after she help repair their heavily damaged ships and droids for the nth times?
Only time can answer.
