AND ANOTHER THING… (even though the speaker is probably smeared across a few bushes by now) Where the hell were [rhetorical] you when I was being broken? Where the hell were you when I had to defend myself against my own broken pieces? Where the hell were you when I had to conquer the Abyss or be devoured by it? Where the hell were you when I had to learn how to fly or be broken on the eager rocks? Where the hell were you when my soul was seared at the hands of other pretty humans? Where the hell were you when I had to choose between a pretty corpse or a monstrous survival, and I chose to survive?
Where!
Show me!
Because if you were [the foot behind the corner], there is not a god nor power in this universe that will be able to keep me from ripping open your maw and taking a flaming shit down your throat. I will pull your soul from your flesh, wipe my dripping ass with it, and seal it in a latrine that I will install at every major sporting event until the human race dies out.
And who the fuck are (were) you, anyway? Because your voice does feel familiar, but I can not place you.
Are you one of these flufferbies that claim a witch is not a proper witch without the proper accoutrements? That only beautiful people can be magic-slingers because the Universe sees itself reflected in that beauty? That humanity is the Chosen One, and even the gods are compelled to work towards our ascension? I’m not pretty enough for you to take seriously?
Fuck you.
Or… what’s left of you.
Because the Darkness gives no fucks about appearances.
Seriously.
Who the fuck are you to even open your mouth? And to open it, in such a place as that cliff.
I concern you, eh?
I am Weaver Many-Names, and “human” is only one of my epithets. I am coming into my own, again. And my appearance is the least of the things you should be worried about.
#bitch bitch bitch