Each Wound

Today I severed ties with an abstract. A lethal creature that cast such a spell that even the most strong willed would be lured with rehearsed charm and false promise.

I had been bit, repeatedly. Each wound, through my enchanted gaze, seemed but a pin-prick, an accident. The creature would salve the punctures with well-crafted apology and paper empathy, not with healing loam, but a poisonous and addictive concoction made from avarice, envy and greed. So spellbound was I, that I grew a taste for it, fed off of it, craved it.

There, in the grips of her gaping maw, I saw the fatal ways of her and her kind.

I have escaped, scarred, wounded, wary.

Beaten but not broken. Left to give warning, heed your heart…there is dark magic in the world. There are those who feed upon us.

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