𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔦𝔯𝔩 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔣𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔫 𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔰

i don’t write for the world.

i write for the part of me that once begged to be seen.

the part that still sometimes folds in on itself when rooms get too loud

or when truth gets too sharp.

this story was never about a throne.

it was always about becoming.

about breaking, about blooming through the ruin.

about turning silence into teeth.

about finding a soulmate in the dark

who saw your scars and said, “i remember.”

this is for the ones who were forgotten,

the quiet ones, the angry ones,

the soft creatures with knives for spines.

this is for you.

you don’t need a crown.

you never did.

you are already the story.

—From the place where stories remember,

Krite.