Observation
He lingers, untouched by all that unfolds. In his hand, a flesh broken fruit, the first bite taken by another. Is it proof of indulgence or a warning? He weighs it in his palm, plagued by thoughts. Will one taste pull him into the madness? To finish what was started may mean becoming part of the feast.
—I’ve often felt like an outsider, weighing the cost of joining in. Temptation has led me down paths of light and darkness, each shaping who I am. But without risk, without surrender, would I be me at all?