[ WP ] : The plot twist is `` his/her socks were tattoos all along ''

Sixty-three years ago, ink was outlawed. 
 
 It was the fatalistic and blind attempt of a new radical religious order, operating in the chaos after World War III, that brought decree. 
 
 Their line of thinking was simple, even if mad: 
 
 Hate brought the war. 
 
 Difference of opinion begat hate. 
 
 Education bred difference of opinion. 
 
 Books engender education. 
 
 Ink is the blood of books. 
 
 
 Their spokesperson, Ylvinia Tolstoy, ( Yes, the irony was not lost to our grandparents either ) was the leader of the religious group. At first they operated secretly, burning down a library, bombing computer server banks, but as time went on they sought larger prey. 
 
 `` Join the Free Daughters! Join the revolution! Cast down those who brought this ash and ruined world upon us!'' 
 I was young at the time: young and stupid. 
 I left my family to join the Free Daughters, thinking I could make a difference, thinking I knew everything. 
 
 I remember standing before her, awestruck, but trying my best to look intimidating, or at the very least, worthy. It was laughable. I was a stick of a girl, shivering as the wind blew through my heavy fur coat. I remember trying to scowl, something frightening, but there was no hesitation in Ylvinia's eyes when she stopped in front of me. A breath of snow snaked around the hood of my coat, landing on my bare neck. I fought the urge to wince at its touch. 
 
 `` Name.'' 
 
 `` Helva, Ma'am.'' 
 
 `` You stand before me like a reed, thinking itself to be an oak. I see through you.'' 
 
 I did n't have an answer. I braced against her words, doubt crackling across my mind, my father's red-cheeked worried face as I left... 
 
 `` You are here because you believe in something? Look at me, reed.'' 
 
 I did n't hear her. I was staring at Ylvinia's boots. They were a shiny blue leather, rusted iron peeking out from the toe of the left one. On her ankles hung thick socks of gray wool, bunched in a rising tower of waves clinging to her defined calves. 
 
 Her boots, her socks, her whole visage were perfect... and not so. Signs of wear were obvious: spider webs of cracks across a leather belt, frayed edges and dangling strings from her cobalt colored fleece coat. Even the socks themselves were not spared, the right one showing a tear down the inside of her ankle. Inside, her glistening skin showed, pearl-white and taut, overlain with a lattice-work of thin black lines, like obsidian lace.... I tilted my head, peering at the tear -- - 
 
 The front of her left boot collided with my hip, crumpling me to the snowy ground. 
 
 `` Is your attention divided girl? Does the reed find it difficult to bend an ear as easily as it bends its neck?'' Ylvinia stepped forward, her boot against my chest, pressing me into the snowbank where I had fallen. 
 
 `` No Ma'am!'' I shouted, coughed really, trying to regain any hope of composure. 
 Beneath her sock, I could n't get the image out of my mind... 
 
 `` Why are you here?! What need have I for someone as feeble, raw, and untrained as you?'' Her heel lifted slightly as her toe dug hard between my ribs. My eyes watered in pain, but I barely bit back a scream, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. I tasted iron as I looked her in the eye. 
 
 On her leg, beneath the sock, I had only seen a pattern like that once before: in my father's prized possession, a battered encyclopedia with the phrase, `` Volume: T'' on the front. 
 
 My eyes narrowed in contest to Ylvinia's burning glare. 
 My lips cracked as I spat, `` You need me, as any river needs reeds. I may bend, but I will not budge from my place.'' I took a grip on her ankle with one hand -- one finger slipping inside her sock -- and pulled it harder into my ribs. The pain blossomed red around my eyes, but I refused to blink. `` You need me, because I am not who I seem.'' 
 
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 Really interesting prompt. I enjoyed it, and the challenge of it was nice. Hopefully you enjoy reading my interpretation of it! 
 
 Edit: Some Grammar 

