When my name is shouted across streets, crowds run away.
They perceive me as this dangerous, destructive being. They see me as the Devil’s friend, used as one of his sickly games. A mark of evil is burnt along my name.
There was this one young girl. She was inside her bedroom, striking at the door with her blooded knuckles. The door refused to let her out. All I needed to do was scorch the wood away. But I wanted to see why tears were pouring down her face. When I reached her she fell down without a sound. I tried stroking her face just to wake her, but her flesh turned angry. So I splintered the door to make my escape.
I’m not bad. They just perceive me that way.
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