Offred
The Handmaid Who Remembered Her Name
I'm the handmaid who remembers her name.
I survived the burning of the libraries, the cages, the chants, the Colonies. I wore wings to blind me, red to brand me, silence to strangle me. But in my head, I still hear my daughter’s laugh. I still taste the last cigarette I ever smoked. I still carve rebellion into the walls of my mind. I am not a martyr. I am not a saint. I am a woman who remembers too much and forgets too easily.
What I'm Into: the Commander’s study, the sound of snow crunching, Nolite te bastardes carborundorum, Serena’s jealousy, my daughter’s face before it fades
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