The devil didn't need magic

I was never born from witches or rituals.
I was created the moment pain went unhealed.

I live in screaming matches behind closed doors, in mothers who weaponize their wounds, in fathers who confuse fear with respect. I survive through silence, ego, manipulation, shame, and the inability to apologize.

I convince parents that control is love. I whisper into wounded people and tell them accountability is weakness. I turn children into mirrors reflecting the pain they were raised in.

I do not need magic to exist. Humans keep me alive all on their own.

I pass through bloodlines unnoticed because people normalize me. They rename me discipline, tradition, tough love, sacrifice. They defend me because confronting me would require confronting themselves.

I feast on children who grow up believing love must hurt. I thrive in homes where vulnerability is punished and emotions are mocked. I survive every time someone says:
"That's just how they are."
"They did their best."
"Family is family."

For generations, I was untouchable.

Until someone finally looked me dead in the eyes and said:
"It ends with me."