The darkness does not arrive with a scream. It creeps. It seeps beneath the doors of the heart and pools in forgotten corners of the mind. It waits in silence, patient as the grave, while hope busies itself with brighter things. It does not conquer in a day. It erodes. Grain by grain. Thought by thought. It is a tide of black water against the cliffs of the soul. And when it finds a crack, it widens it. The darkness hates. Not with the burning fury of an enemy, but with the cold contempt of a thing that believes nothing deserves to exist. It despises joy because joy defies it. It despises love because love withstands it. It despises courage because courage dares to look into its abyss and refuse to kneel. So it whispers. It tells the good that goodness is weakness. It tells the kind that kindness is folly. It tells the weary that surrender is peace. And many listen. The corruption of darkness is not the transformation of a saint into a monster overnight. It is far crueler than that. It is the slow hollowing of the spirit. The gradual surrender of every noble thing. The day when mercy feels inconvenient. The day when suffering becomes entertainment. The day when another's pain ceases to matter. That is its victory. A soul devoured by darkness rarely notices the feast. The stars vanish one by one. The fire grows cold. The songs become distant memories. At last there remains only a vast and empty night, stretching endlessly in every direction, where hatred sits upon a throne built from all that was once beautiful. Beware the encroaching darkness. Not because it is powerful. Not because it is ancient. But because it is patient. It will wait through every season of your life. It will stand beyond every grave. It will linger at the edge of every flickering light, yearning for the moment the flame grows weak. And if given the chance, it will make your soul resemble itself. Cold. Empty. Hungry. A kingdom of eternal midnight where nothing grows, nothing heals, and nothing is loved. @itChy



