creature of shadow and ink, smoke and oil, slipping fluidly from jackal form to raven to snake to grasping tentacles, all the better with which to circle ’round, whisper in my ears, slip inside my mouth, my dreams, all the better with which to insinuate guilt and plant fears, I can close and lock the door but you slip like sand through the keyhole, I can demand obedience but you grin as you lay flat at my feet and I dare not turn my back, untameable beast, trickster with a subtle touch, I know not to believe you but you have been my constant companion all these years and there’s something comforting about your silken words, an old lullaby to which I can always return

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