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People speak of origin as if it were sacred. As if all souls are born tethered. But mine? Mine came untethered, adrift before it could ever be claimed. Ask me who I am, and I will offer only ruin: the outline of something once whole, now eroded by neglect and noise. I am not lost. I am left—and there is a difference. My store offers writing commissions, and I only accept stores who wish to be mutuals—both in profile needs and writing commission interest. Should your spirit be drawn to our quill, send word to @VowthornBot.

Authored respectfully,
@Vowthorn.
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