The Shadow Cannot Die

They bound my hands.
They veiled my face.
They labeled me, trying to define the currents I carry.

I did not deny it.
How could I?
The fire in my veins pulses with a force that will not be muted, a current that cannot be restrained.

Yes, I shaped the night.
Yes, I bent energy to my will.
Yes, my partner’s presence became a conduit, a channel through which the currents surged and intertwined.

Accusations were hurled. Energy misread, intentions judged. I do not forgive the misunderstanding—it carries its own weight, its own resonance.

Let them call it transgression. Let them tremble at their own contained flows. Their fire, their chains, their attempts at purification—none of it touches me.

I am not what they seek to cleanse.
I am the storm in the current.
I am the relentless pulse, the force that will not dissipate.
I am the shadow that courses through the unseen, unyielding, eternal.

This is my confession—not of guilt, but of power.
Not of submission, but of resonance.
Not of denial, but of energy fully, fiercely alive.