Poison

What’s your favorite word?

At every passing hour, Poison returned.
At ten, Poison lit the camphor.
At eleven, Poison chanted empty words.
At twelve, Poison waved shadows in the air, certain they would strike the Black Heart.

Poison believed in itself more than truth. Poison believed it had power. Poison believed fear was stronger than clarity.

But the Black Heart only watched.

Every blur Poison sent dissolved. Every serpent Poison raised struck its own tail. Every curse Poison spoke became poison to its own lips.

For Poison is clever but shallow. Poison is loud but hollow. Poison is restless but blind. A shallow mind may love Poison, but it does not see that Poison never leaves its master.

The Black Heart had endured Poison before. It had tasted Poison yet remained unbroken. It knew the secret: Poison cannot pierce what does not consent.

And then the final twist came.

The blur Poison had thrown at the Black Heart coiled back into Poison’s own chest. The fire he tried to plant in others burned his lungs. The sickness he had carried for others became his own burden.

The parable says:
Poison is the favorite word of the shallow mind. Poison calls itself strength, but strength it is not. Poison always returns home, and the Black Heart remains untouched, unbroken, unafraid.