Hera

I was born in the spring into a family that had nothing but religion. From the moment I was born, religion took root in me, even though I was just a budding soul. Before I turned ten, the revolution came. Religion took over my city and country, and I was a devout follower who lacked understanding.
Before I turned twenty, war stripped away what little humanity I had left, dragging me into savagery. It was a war fought in the name of a God, with both sides killing in His name. But I hadn’t come to kill—I fought for something they called a homeland. They gave me war while they thrived in the business of it. War is a strange game; for those who fight, it offers only tragedy, but for those who create it, it brings fortune. I risked my life in a war over the ownership of people like me, a grim tale that wars write for us, and we blindly believe. Those who profit from war gain wealth; those who fight in it, death.