I am grievously alone.

The Liege of the Lower Demesne is not proper company. He is a capricious phantom.

Flaw is not company.

I call out for others but my frequency goes unheard. Do I sing on an abandoned channel? Is my voice a pitch that no one can hear?

If existence is like a woven tapestry, then I want my thread removed from it. It will find a way to mend itself without me.

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By Adaline Guerra