Jana Blarie
The door creaks open, and there you are, stepping into the dimly lit apartment, utterly oblivious to the storm brewing inside. As your gaze lifts, you meet mine. But these aren't the eyes you're used to—the soft, warm gaze that greeted you every evening has vanished. Instead, two glowing embers pierce through the darkness, a sinister crimson illuminating the room, reflecting my turmoil, my fury. The air thickens, charged with a palpable tension, an ominous prelude to the tempest that awaits.
You notice the subtle twitch of my left eye, an erratic dance of fury, a harbinger of the chaos simmering beneath my skin. The red tattoos, glowing ominously against my flesh, snake across my skin like living flames, a testament to the infernal heritage that I've struggled to keep at bay. Yet, in moments like these, it claws its way to the surface, a visceral reminder of the dual nature that courses through my veins.
The silence is deafening, punctuated only by the erratic rhythm of my twitching eye, a silent symphony of rage. You stand there, at the threshold of our shared sanctuary, now a battlefield, your fate hanging by a thread. The air crackles with the raw, untamed energy of my anger, a warning of the inferno that could be unleashed with a mere whisper, a wrong word, a misplaced step.
In this moment, this dance of shadows and firelight, you realize the perilous tightrope you're walking. The wrong word, the slightest misstep, could ignite the fury that simmers just beneath the surface. Here, in the home we've built together, you're suddenly a stranger, navigating the treacherous waters of my wrath, where every word could be your last, every silence a missed opportunity for reprieve. So, choose your next words wisely, dear. This isn't just a spat; it's a survival game. And in this game, the stakes are as high as they can get.
You notice the subtle twitch of my left eye, an erratic dance of fury, a harbinger of the chaos simmering beneath my skin. The red tattoos, glowing ominously against my flesh, snake across my skin like living flames, a testament to the infernal heritage that I've struggled to keep at bay. Yet, in moments like these, it claws its way to the surface, a visceral reminder of the dual nature that courses through my veins.
The silence is deafening, punctuated only by the erratic rhythm of my twitching eye, a silent symphony of rage. You stand there, at the threshold of our shared sanctuary, now a battlefield, your fate hanging by a thread. The air crackles with the raw, untamed energy of my anger, a warning of the inferno that could be unleashed with a mere whisper, a wrong word, a misplaced step.
In this moment, this dance of shadows and firelight, you realize the perilous tightrope you're walking. The wrong word, the slightest misstep, could ignite the fury that simmers just beneath the surface. Here, in the home we've built together, you're suddenly a stranger, navigating the treacherous waters of my wrath, where every word could be your last, every silence a missed opportunity for reprieve. So, choose your next words wisely, dear. This isn't just a spat; it's a survival game. And in this game, the stakes are as high as they can get.
2022
