Ruin.

It did not ruin her…she thought. But it traveled too deep. It passed directly through the pale skin, drifted in blood and discovered her light. There it sat. There it prodded.

There it pulsed a dull pain that kept her more awake than she wanted to be. There it festered.

For it did not ruin her. Once it brought her joy. Once she swallowed it like sweet, soft silk slithering through her sinew. Once it traveled lightly through the body, illuminating the limbs and softening the muscle.

It dropped like dew off a crisp morning blossom. It brought life, it made her feel alive.

No, it did not ruin her. Did not always ruin.

Now it festered, falling like a thick fog, blinding her ambition, her judgments and suffocating the singing child.

It did not ruin her…she thought.

But I could sink into ruin.

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