The Lie We Tell Ourselves

Original media : TES Online By Mirabelle Motierre Dearest Mother, I remember your name. I have surrounded myself with lying liars and have become a liar myself, but in my lies I see the manifestation of your domain as clearly as the blood we spill in the shadows of a secret murder. So even though I wish to scream truth in their faces or whisper your name into the ear of the dying, I tell myself that the secret is my faith, my joy and not a blasphemy. Yet just once I wish for you to speak to me. Why not me? I have listened for you always. I cloaked myself in you long before they called me Dark Sister. I was the Chimera, ever shifting and changing and lying a thousand thousand lies for you. To be seen by you. To hear you. They call themselves Listener, but no one listens for your whisper with more hope and desire than I do. I have walked in accordance with your Arts, shrouded in Eight Shadows. I have lived lies and ended lives, not for the Dread Father but for you. They call themselves Speakers, but no one has spoken your words with as much conviction as I do. Do you see the shrine that I have built? A shrine of my body. Every face a lie, the envy both elicited and felt. The mastery of seduction. The embrace and instillment of fear, the betrayal of family and truth. The murder of others, the murder of self. The insatiable want. The fury I feel and release and feel again at you, you, you when all treasures are nothing but lies. Dearest Mother, I remember your name. But I will speak the lie and love the lie if you wish. Perhaps that is your lesson. The treasure is the lie.