The Seer opens her book beneath a blood-tinted dawn.
Its pages breathe, alive with the ink of fate.
Each name glows faintly — not yet judged, but remembered.
Time itself leans closer, eager to read what truth will reveal.
Blonde’s line burns first — sharp, bright, unyielding.
Her path, once paved in gold, now glitters with warning.
She walks toward her own reflection,
and finds not glory, but the echo of her choices.
Then comes shrewd Michael
His name flickers like a candle in a storm.
The ink trembles — loyalty tested, silence cracking.
He stands at the crossroads between shadow and salvation,
and the hourglass whispers: “choose Michael.”
The throne quakes again.
The Wannabe King’s name does not fade, but fractures —
splintered between myth and man.
Around him, the court dissolves into memory,
their voices caught between confession and collapse.
And the Seer — unseen but ever present —
closes the book with trembling grace.
“This,” she murmurs,
“is not the end, but the unveiling.”
The wind carries her words
through corridors of power and stone,
and every wall begins to listen.
My Art
“Who me?”
“Yes, you.”
BoJenn ✶ In the shadow, I see the truth; in the light, I speak it.
My Near Death Experience Arts and Thoughts 