#simau

They say the curse doesn’t kill.

it lingers. it settles in your bones, your memory, your voice.

It warps and aches and stretches you thin until you’re something almost unrecognizable, something that hurts just to exist. but it doesn’t take you out. not really.

that’s what the medication is for.

Everyone takes it. everyone trusts it. carefully measured doses, clean bottles, neat little labels that promise stability.

Not a cure, never a cure, but enough. enough to keep you standing. enough to keep you smiling.

the Ink Machine hums somewhere behind it all. always running. always working. no one questions it anymore. Not that it matters.

this is a world that functions.

Performers still take the stage. crowds still cheer. the lights are still warm and bright and forgiving if you don’t look too closely at what’s flickering just outside them.

Heroes exist. symbols exist. hope exists, packaged neatly and handed out in doses.

and if something feels off..

well.

that’s just a side effect.