The fear is crimson, like a flame. It’s my private demon, dressed in gauze and silk. The royal upbringing I gave it, shines like a black star. Where I go, it slowly creeps after me, leaving dusk and twilight on the path I passed. It loves me. And I love it too, it’s like a ghost haunting me for so long, that I befriended it and made my second skin, tougher somehow, darker.
I am dark inside, even if nobody sees it. I hope that no one sees it. I am happy I am made, both of outer light and inner darkness. Isn’t that what makes us whole?