A letter from the neurons of my brain.

Defining labels for myself.

A demon cursed to endure human inhabitants. A woman refusing to leave. Naturally, romance is bound to occur.

Welcome to the Thirteenth Door. There are twelve doors we pass through without question; The ones marked Childhood, Belonging, Grief, Becoming. Doors we are pushed through. Doors we are pulled through. But the thirteenth door is different. It waits quietly at the edge of memory, behind dream-speak and breathless silence, hidden in the curl of smoke or the soft unraveling of who you thought you were. This is the door you do not find until you are ready to listen. These are ghost stories for the living; not tales of terror, but of remembering. They are the echoes of unlived lives, the voices of the selves you left behind, the fireside confessions of beings made of myth and marrow. Some are haunting. Some are healing. All are true, in the way shadow-truth always is. So, sit by the fire. Let the stories speak. And if you hear a door creak open behind you… don’t be afraid.

You’ve been here before.