My nightmares spoke vicious tales of love and loss. Tangled within long branches, my wings were trapped in fatal infatuations and unfulfilled mirages. Dripping with bitter sap, they stuck in glue, spread over the trees by goddess of Things That Must Go Wrong.
Why did the goddess release me?
Perhaps she was just fed up with the sight of a bleeding raven biting their tormented flesh to pull their heart out. A bird eating it’s own feathers. A hunter being hunted by their will to break from the cage made of familiar moss and flesh-gnawing thorns.
Maybe I am free. Maybe it’s an illusion, and it will start all over again, when I close and open my eyes.
Maybe the hell is sucking me in right now, and I am becoming one of its demons, eager to cause pain and bathe in sin.
Though. I want. To. Believe.
There is always a hope, that this forest before me is real. And I am just taking the first breath filled with the scent of pines.