July 26th, Year of the Corpse

Every graveyard has a ghost. Every full moon is admired by a dancing vampire. Every hillside has soft footprints, left behind by a shadow man. Every lake is filled with the tears of a woman in mourning. Every tree knows the tongue of the fey. Every death was prophesied by a child. Every realm can be located by a faithful man. Every witch is betrayed by the light in her heart.

I have not slept in three days time. My emotions change by the hour. There is an overwhelming compassion that grows with every breath, which is soon turned into a demonic fury. I look for the reason behind my disturbed state, and the only thing I hear is the voice of the Virgin of the Sea, as he tells me that he cannot find one reason to dislike me. And I hate him for that. And I hate myself. And I want someone to hate me, as much as I can hate.

It is that I understand myself least, soon after I have taken a step forward.

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July 26th, Year of the Corpse

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