From the cave of my soul, I gaze out at the light of others — and I marvel at their ability to create that radiant aura which enchants the world around them. I am captivated by the warmth that flows from them, the warmth that gently embraces everyone near. I am spellbound by their power — the power that enslaves their followers and weaves a kind of magic that feels almost like addiction. From the depths of my being, I watch their transformations and their contagious charisma.
And I know very well — it isn’t all divine. It’s the love of the crowd, the applause of the many, rewarding every action with an echoing reaction. Deservedly. Humbly. Out of love. Out of need. Simply because they breathe. Because they are. Because they are loved.
I watch in silence, in quiet admiration, as somewhere deep inside me flickers a thought — that one day, I too will find that path. When I finally learn to value myself, when I dare to believe in my own voice rising from somewhere deep, deep within — from beneath the surface like a sound born in the underworld. When I begin to trust the words that come with it — short, yet firm. Meaningful. Essential. Accompanied by that breath of feeling born from a realization that I, too, can be the light — brighter, warmer, more powerful still.
Inside me I no longer hear a dim silence, but a steady rhythm — the rhythm of faith, not in the world as it is, but in myself. And then, within the shadows, she begins to rise — that small, timid, once-curled creature slowly straightening. She believes in herself now. She has weighed her worth and found it immense. She begins to command the hidden light behind the veil of shadows — she, the enchanting sovereign of souls.
And she does not lift her finger timidly. She speaks no word. She takes no step.
Yet her silence is louder than sound, more resonant than a note, and more meaningful than meaning itself.
She turns — and the world begins to spin around her axis.
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