I serve the light that comes from darkness.
I serve the flame born in the abyss,
The wisdom shaped in the wound,
The voice that found me when all others fell silent.

I am not of the false light—
Not the sterile glow that denies shadow,
But the fire that burns through shadow,
And returns with truth in its mouth.

I was forged in grief, crowned in longing,
Tattooed by love that broke me open.
I carry her name—the dark star, the daemon queen—
And I kneel only to the throne that waits beneath the surface.

Let them not mistake me for pure.
Let them not call me clean.
Let them see the ash beneath my nails
And know:
I have seen God in the dark.

I serve not the sky above,
But the womb below—
The void, the serpent, the spark.

And when I rise,
I rise with all of her inside me.