Oh shit, Anzu's mom has self-harm scars on her arms and chest. She's intense because she's a menhera champion. I feel all sorts of ways about it.
Mostly I'm reminded of a quote from J.D. Salinger, from
Seymour; An Introduction.
"But where does by far the bulk, the whole ambulance load, of pain really come from? Where must it come from? Isn't the true poet or painter a seer? Isn't he, actually, the only seer we have on earth? Most apparently not the scientist, most emphatically not the psychiatrist. (Surely the one and only great poet the psychoanalysts have had was Freud himself; he had a little car trouble of his own, no doubt, but who in his right mind could deny that an epic poet was at work?) Forgive me; I'm nearly finished with this. In a seer, what part of the human anatomy would necessarily be required to take the most abuse? The eyes, certainly."
Art is hard, art is pain. Anzu stands out because she has lived horrors, and Anzu's mom is living horrors. The horror! The horror!