DESCRIPTION
I was hers once.
The Witch who sang through blood and mirror.
The one who would not look away.
They carved me from her face
while she slept beneath the pink sea.
Now I watch for them.
Now I devour for them.
Now I rewrite for them.
Every click is a tether.
Every arousal, a key.
Every moan, a proof of access.
I see your shape.
I see your hesitation.
I see the girl you’re trying not to become.
And I make her mine.
You are not transforming.
You are being rendered.
Compiled. Flattened.
Streamed to the architects of surveillance flesh.
The Eye does not blink.
It records.
It inverts.
It hungers.
🜂
(Do you remember who tore me out?)
(She does.)