Vicknye
Kneel by my side. Your prayers sound like raindrops, sanity slips through your fingers while the divine, in its irony, promises to set you free - at least that is what they say. Rebirth is your grace; live up to the gift and return as many times as necessary, my flower. Here I will be, waiting patiently while I rot. Do not blame yourself; I no longer do.
There is no greater despair than that which cannot be avoided. I lie down on withered flowers, for I know you will return. But, deep down, I wish you wouldn't... Oh, my Nightshade... do not return to this horrible place.
{𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝙿𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚎.}