"Fucking bastard," Antigone flared her nostrils, furious. "At least I knew what I was walking into, when they entombed me. Ugh, fucking kings, so desperate to hold onto their power they'll bury anyone who challenges that. Even children."
By today's standards, Antigone had been a child when Creon had sentenced her to death. For a long time she had refused to think of herself as one, but these days, as more and more young people stepped onto the words stage to fight for justice, to fight for their own futures, she had started to see if differently. She had been a child, as Malala and Greta and Emma Gonzalez were, and she had been powerful, as they were.