Free of it? No, no. Free because of it. I now embrace the red. The scarlet, the shimmer. The burgundy, the rust. The tang of the thick, heavy smell. The sharpness of the metal, slice slice slice slice slice. Severing. Tearing. Breaking. Healing. Forgiving. Releasing. 

Who are they? Who am I? Who are we? Who are you? I don't know, and you might not either. That's okay. As long as it's there I'll be fine. As long as it's there I can be free. Free to not be free. Free to have decisions being made for me, muscle memory even though it's only been in me - no, been me - for less than a year. 

I don't need an excuse. I have it. It fills every cell of my being. I am on fire and in ice. I am frigid and I am the fires of Hell. A demon born a new. An avenging angel, darkness snuffing out the light. 

(Want me to write more? Check out my other book too, owl me for suggestions)