There is a pair of them; my inner demon and my external facade. There will always be shadows where the light falls.

In a fairytale island made up of polished glass, people have grown detached from all the plastic makeover.
Conformity is part of the existence as social creatures bound by invincible laws of propriety but there are too many strings ripping me apart. Yet The Hierophant demands absolute obedience.

I call all clerics liars but not religion a lie. I would not pledge my allegiance to a hollow King or Queen if it means blind servitude. I cannot break free of habits acquired from my elders but I know enough to not show my true self to watchful eyes.

So I’ll don my hideous mask and become a distorted, mindless puppet just to fit in with the rest but I grow weary of my pretense and my silence is deafening… even to my own ears.

Prophet of Conformity
The beast was here all along…

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