Work Text:
On one hand, thinking of this power- holding the switch, flipping it right as you step off, knowing they’re watching- it's addictive. Like you said: “I perform when I want to, stop when I want to. Watch me.” It stirs something in me, makes me crave it. Perform just for that.
The hands claw through my chest into my throat, tearing and tearing to get out. My skin feels too tight, yet numb. Too cold, yet burning. It’s like being high- so high you never want to come down.
And yet, I don’t like power. The idea itself is too estranged to me. I don’t want to hold it, nor do I want anyone else to. Not more than necessary. It feeds on your soul until you’re nothing but a shell. A dream come true at first glance, even the second. But dig deeper, and it rots. A nightmare of pitch-black walls, shackles and gags. Claw marks and broken nails, blood splattered everywhere. The walls rise too high to climb, too high to see over. Dreams lie shattered where the shackles should’ve broken. Silent screams lull you into false security, until you lose your identity- becoming a mere slave to the very thing you once thought you could claim.
Power.