VOEMIST.

ㅤ ㅤ The first cut was shallow, barely a scratch. But hunger twisted it. Each bite, each craving, deepened the wound—not bleeding, but swallowing, growing darker, thicker. It whispered at first, brushing against my ribs. Then it roared, no longer a voice but an order. I was not eating for myself anymore. The scar had become the mouth, and I, @VOEMIST, was merely the hands. ㅤ ㅤ