He doesn't hunt the strong or proud,
but waits where silence speaks too loud.
Where flickers dance in broken eyes,
he whispers hope, he sells the lie.
No claws, no fangs, no blood to see,
just trust disguised as empathy.
Behind him, grasping, ghostly hands,
lost pieces pulled from sinking lands.
But what he stole begins to turn
the portal hums, and shadows churn.
He walks ahead, still blind, still sure...
not knowing he’ll be claimed once more.
Artist
spellamin
Reality
NO