The phone rings.
Willow: Hello?
Caroline Bartley: Charlotte, have you seen the results of the Foundation's latest evaluation?
The caution in Caroline's tone annoys her.
Willow: If you've got something to say, just say it. I'm not as fragile as you think.
Willow: Good lord, I hate the way you beat around the bush! Just spit it out, will you?
Caroline Bartley: ...
There's a deep sigh from the other end of the line.
Caroline Bartley: Charlotte, you might not be able to go to Uluru.
Willow: That's impossible.
Caroline Bartley: After the Foundation's evaluation, they still concluded that ... Well, that it's unfair.
Willow: Bollocks! I have one less leg than the rest of you, don't I? I'm a bloody cripple for crying out loud! How could they possibly think I have an advantage?!
Willow: If they're afraid of competing with me because of this leg, then there's no need to compete with them at all.
Caroline Bartley: No.
She struggles to utter the subsequent words.
Caroline Bartley: Of course, judging only on past achievements, no one is more qualified than you to participate.
Caroline Bartley: But the committee unanimously agrees that if you compete against able-bodied athletes, it would be unfair to YOU, Charlotte.
Willow: What? So barring disabled people from competing is more fair?
Willow: I can still stand, can't I? What right do they have to take this away from me? To strip me of my right to compete?!
Willow: I still remember what they said back then.
Her habitual sneer makes an appearance.
Willow: "Floor Ritual has always had its roots in arcanum. If she's only here to compete for technical points, why doesn't she compete in another event?"
Willow: Well, I can hardly rely on technical points now, can I? How could they use such a pathetic excuse to bar me from competing?!
Caroline Bartley: ...
For what feels like an eternity, there is a dead silence between them.
Caroline Bartley: I'm sorry, Charlotte.
Willow: Why are you apologizing?!
Caroline Bartley: I'll help you apply for the finals again. I'll do everything I can.
Willow: I'm not an invalid!
Anger bubbles forth.
Willow: I can fight my own battles! I've fought harder on one leg than most do with two! So you can save your sanctimonious pity for someone else!
Willow: Oh, you want me to thank you, is that it? How exactly should I express my gratitude for this magnanimous favor of yours, eh? Let me remind you—I won the gold medal back then, not you!
Caroline Bartley: ...
Caroline Bartley: I'm sorry, Charlotte.
The phone call ends.
Willow: ...
She grips the receiver tightly.
Willow: Leave me alone!!
She hurls the phone before sweeping her arm across the table, sending a collection of items clattering to the floor.
Willow: Why? Why?!
More objects fly around the room.
Willow: Bloody hell!
No matter how much noise she makes, there is no one to answer her questions. Her neighbors have long learned to ignore the strange noises from this particular residence.
She screams and crashes around her house. It's the only means she has to expend her energy. Then, her hand touches a small box.
Willow: ...
She halts and opens it with her pale, trembling hands.
Inside, her medal lies quietly on its bed of velvet. There's a small dent on one side.
Willow: ...
She remembers. How could she forget?
