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I cannot say yes for sure, but I do not command my soul in the matter. I hear him….I hear him without choice, listen….

I know that in your layer of time now I would be called a dybbuk, a hellion perhaps, if I were believed at all that is. I watch you and I’m waiting, because all I need is one of the five, just one of you, to let me in, to look in the mirror and see me behind your eyes, see my hand lifted to your face as you shave, as you lean forwards to pull at your wrinkles, push your thread veined cheeks, pout at yourself in the bathroom mirror peering intently. Just one of your neatly wrapped, lusterless souls to see something askance within, something a little…amis in that echoed semblance. And in that second of seeing, that brief illuminated recognition of…of quite what you know not, your mind will open itself beyond the mundane, the worn toothbrush, the sticky piece of gunky sleep stuck obstinately in the corner of the right eye, the mascara choked lashes, and I will shuttle like a bullet through you to your very core, and finally, FINALLY have that which is due me. Owed. Owned. The pleasure of revenge in a dimension that ejected me. Threw me away like a piece of rotting fruit. Abandoned me.

A thousand voices sealing one fate.

I hear him.

I doubt you’ll ever, find your way back.