I am the storm and the raven’s cry. With arms outstretched to the heavens, I summon the shadows that dance upon the waves.

In the ruin of old kings I stand, red hair spilling like spilled secrets into the fog. The stones remember betrayal; I remember only the quiet after screaming. Let the sea keep its apologies. I have already learned how to haunt without dying.

— for the girl who wears sorrow like velvet.

By the old gods who still speak.

In the shadowed arches of forgotten cathedrals, where mist clings like whispered secrets, she stands— a flame born of midnight velvet, hair the color of spilled rubies and dying suns, defiant against the stone that would hold her still.

In the embrace of shadows and scales, I learned that true power isn't in domination—it's in the quiet trust between predator and willing prey. We coil around each other, two dangerous beauties, and neither of us flinches.

Veiled in dawn and almost-nothing, she reminded the world that beauty is what happens when light refuses to look away.

The gate asks no questions, but the shadows never forget the answers.

I carry the weight of every gaze I’ve ever avoided.

✍️Anna Akhmatova

✍️Mary Oliver

The beauty of darkness lies in its mysterious embrace of the unknown.

Happy New Year💜