Mandalay, Myanmar - Six Myanmar war widows speak softly of their grief as they walk inside the crumbling walls of Mandalay Palace, fresh arrivals in an earthquake-wracked city strained anew by conflict.
"We feel more freedom here," said one among them, all widows of dead soldiers.
She was evacuated from her hometown, which was "ruined by war", to the improbable refuge of a military-run quake recovery zone several months after it struck.
The March 28 jolt killed nearly 3,800 people as it flattened swaths of Mandalay -- an ancient royal capital hemmed by jungle-clad mountains and the snaking Irrawaddy River.
The 7.7-magnitude tremor dealt an especially heavy blow in a country reeling from civil war since the military seized power in a 2021 coup.
The junta has pledged elections beginning on December 28 and has touted them as a path to peace with its myriad adversaries -- from ragtag pro-democracy partisans to semi-professional ethnic minority armies.
However, a UN expert has dismissed the vote as a "fraud" and rebels have declared they will block it.
The military is besieging their enclaves with new offensives, bidding to expand the poll's reach into regions it does not currently control.
Fighter jets and helicopters howl over Mandalay's quake-dented skyline, flying towards front lines while newly displaced civilians arrive daily, crowding shelters in a city where much was razed.
Draped over the tarpaulin-wrapped palace parapet, a new red military banner urges: "Co-operate and crush all those harming the union".
The widows, who AFP is not identifying for security reasons, have been left in mourning and displaced in a strange and wounded place.
"Some of our husbands fell in battle right before our eyes. Some fell far away," said one, now raising three children alone.
"I have no idea about politics," she said. "I do not think it is good that Myanmar people fight each other."
- 'I really hate war' -
The strain is not immediately visible on the streets.
Most collapsed buildings have been cleared and the scaffolding-filled city resembles one undergoing a modest construction boom.
The gem market has become an unlikely hub for those displaced from the ruby-mining town of Mogok, around 115 kilometres (70 miles) north of Mandalay.
The junta, which has hammered the coveted town with air strikes since it was seized by rebels last summer, has said it will not hold elections there.
Now the displaced flee to Mandalay, hawking precious stones inside a shopping mall with cracked walls where trading has been restricted to the ground-floor entrance lobby.
"Because of the heavy fighting every day more and more people are coming," said one recent arrival, touting tiny sapphires to prospective buyers.
More than 90,000 people, many jostling for aid, are living displaced in the Mandalay region, according to UN figures.
"We are getting less and less since the earthquake," said 62-year-old Ohn May, who was sitting on the floor with around a dozen people among their belongings in a Buddhist monastery hall.
"We have been waiting for donations like chickens waiting for feed," Ohn May said.
The prospect of polls is irrelevant for some as they scrabble to meet their daily needs.
"I do not want to think about who is right or wrong -- about the power, or the politics, or whatever," said a 56-year-old displaced teacher. "But what I know is I really hate war."
Weary from a near half-decade of fighting, others like Khin Maung Htwe, 55, regard the election with a nothing-to-lose mindset.
Perhaps, he reasoned, "it will bring a little bit of peace and stability".
"With the fighting, it's the worst situation possible," he said.
- Nothing left to give -
The March earthquake hit with a force so immense that the ground sheared up to six metres (20 feet) in places, according to NASA analysis, tearing gaping holes into roads.
Portions of the Sky Villa condo in Mandalay were pancaked in the deadliest single site, killing 206 people, according to the managers of the upmarket mid-rise.
The last of the bodies were recovered in mid-September, said a search and rescue worker as excavators churned through the ruins one recent morning.
A security guard, who once watched the daily lives of Sky Villa's residents, has remained at his post for the past six months.
He guards the wreck of homes that buried many alive, observing a city hobbled by the combination of natural and human-made disasters.
"Everyone has their own problems and has had to look after themselves," said the 65-year-old, speaking on condition of anonymity.
"They haven't been able to look after each other."
