She was marked from birth,

Peculiar marks on her hands.

One was dark,

The other light.

One hand broke toys,

The other repaired.

One hand pushed her mother away,

The other reached to pull her close.

Whatever one hand did,

The other tried to undo.

And as she grew,

and grew,

and grew,

She found she could not fix it all.

She had to stop the bad somehow.

So she could live,

And live well.

Then,

One day,

She took matters into her own hands.