The outlines something faded, the shells of something used up.
It’s intoxicating to be wanted.
It’s a sick-soul balm, but the secret
The caw
The screech
The dreamus interruptus
The balm heals while it’s on, serves as a salve, soothes your wounds and affords you a supernatural strength.
A level unheretofore known
AND THEN
when it’s gone…
your soul is worse than before.
a piece is gone.
the secret: you don’t have to kill to make a horcrux.
you simply have to make someone fall in love with you
(A little madness is good)
and – that – there splits off a piece of your soul
it belongs to them now.
if ever you want to see it – that soulpiece – you can – like in a museum box
Just
Give
Them
A
Call
or read your old journals
look at some pictures together
your soul won’t come back to you.
No. That’s the point of a horcrux, after all.
It won’t come back, but you will be able to see it.
And it will hurt.
Very badly.
Because when you see it again, it’s not yours anymore, but it does understand.
It longs to be back where it belongs — back in your soulbox, returned to you.
The sense of loss: palpable.
The price.
Of living on.
