Feathers on the Edge of Silence
A flicker—Lana. Raven shadows slapped at the edges of silence—feathers untamed, storms flaring in the cavity of skull, screeches peeling the night's velvet, claws scratching raw the temple walls inside my head. She perches, accusing, sharp-edged and jagged, casting doubt like cracked glass onto every flicker of warmth, every fragile ember that dares hold light. A demon, but sometimes a guardian—an internal signal warning, something’s off. The fight: fierce, silent, electric—the harsh call of Lana, ruffling feathers, tearing open the soft underbelly where gentle struggles bleed. Between us, a battlefield littered with sliced fragments of calm and chaos—her screams rattle the spine, vibrant and cruel, while my tender heart stammers, a moth spinning closer to the flame, only to dissolve in the slow burn of a shadow’s pull—an exhale that shrinks space between us, a pull away. Lana mocks, caws sharp and cruel—"It's your fault," she spits into the breaks of my thoughts, a s...