unwitnessed

Panopticon 

Trapped as she was, her body atrophied centuries ago.

Early on, she would think about insects 

she had trapped 

under glass as a girl: 

the pin; 

the accusing wings; the pain

-staking hand

-lettered caption.

Now: her shame, the pin 

Early on, she wished 

for death. Any death 

starvation

 (fine). 

Centuries with her mind adrift in the void between worlds and her body still there: tethered. 

Forsaken, there and then 

forgotten. 

The ignominy of never being allowed to pass into myth, or legend. 

Or worse, not worth worship 

nor perhaps fear.

She thought her name had likely melted from the entire collective memory of Uile and its planets. No longer Destruction itself, nor even a whisper of threat, only reliving her worst and final moment.

They had bested every crack of power she had whipped, breaking her over and over and over her voice; her body’s movements; her orb; all snatched from her 

until she was nothing

 a silent shout in the dark.

But this witch had no one to build her fires and wait for her return. She lost her mind for the millionth time in its old eddy of shame and ebb of fury and upon its return she built a new door and curdled in on herself: universe in miniature.