End of Starchild

At first, one offers what is light, what feels like a spark of joy. an idea, a thought, a secret desire. the act of giving is not without its price. it is the yearning to be seen, to be known that causes the soul to fray. the whisper becomes a chant. a plea, a cry for attention, and then a demand. once two souls are entwined in the same obsession, they pull at each other. in the end, both are consumed. what was once a mutual understanding becomes a prison of thoughts. A voice reaches through the fog clouding your senses. Polaris waketh; thrice in breath conceal’d, once graven deep on ashen flesh. the sphere, that, sleeping, yet its oath doth keep, doth take the marrow, and doth guide the…