21/07/2026
I can see this shadow that keeps calling them back.
It does not need to chase.
It simply waits.
Every time they create some distance, the shimmer pulls them back in with silver-coloured hands.
A touch upon the face.
A hand across the skin.
That oh-so-comfortable feeling stirring within.
Every connection leaves a trace.
A mark.
A scar.
At first, the glimmer is beautiful.
Silver shining from their skin, disguising itself as love, comfort or escape.
But every time they go back, the shimmer spreads.
It becomes darker.
Heavier.
Constraining.
No matter how many times they try to escape, its voice grows louder while theirs is compressed to little more than a squeak.
The distance is never far enough.
They are still within its grasp.
And every attempt to move forward somehow leads them back to that oh-so-familiar past.
Each time, carrying another stain.
Another memory.
Another piece of the shadow upon them.
Until eventually, they can no longer remember what they looked like without it.
They begin to believe the only way to silence the monsters is to disappear with them.
So they lower their head beneath the surface and let the darkness close around them.
But somewhere inside that silence, something wakes up.
A flicker.
A spark.
A fire they thought had gone out.
They lift their head and take the first breath of a life that still belongs to them.
The silver remains.
The marks cannot simply be washed away.
But they are no longer proof that the shadow owns them.
They become proof that they survived it.
They find their fire again.
And although the monsters have marked their skin, they do not get to write the ending.
