Chapter Text
Lullaby for the Forgotten
May death come quietly, cradling a blanket soft as mercy, and lay it over the slumborn child my bones remember.
Let it bring warmth where life left frostbite, kindness where none was owed.
And as I lie curled in the silence— all edges and ache—may it smooth the dust from my hair, as if I were something fragile. Something worth tucking in.
One last lullaby, for someone the world never sang to.
It’s not about what went wrong. Not about what should’ve been done.
It’s about this:
Out of every being in this great, churning cycle of life—why does misfortune always fall on those with the softest hands, the weakest shields?
Were the three Sisters of fate weaving blindly? Or did they see me—and choose to pull the thread anyway?
I never asked about destiny. Never believed in fate. But now I wonder— how much pain does a soul need to endure… just to breathe without shaking?
Can a life be measured in arithmetic? In equations of worth? In balances of suffering?
Raskolnikov tried.
His author challenged it.
And now I ask you, reader:
How much sorrow must a slumborn endure—
just to earn a moment of peace?