Page 28 of Marked By His Hunger
Not a delusion.
A truth.
An impossible, fantastic, magical truth.
All those years of seeing things no one else could…
Hearing voices that didn’t belong to the living…
Feeling the pull of something beyond the veil…
It hadn’t been madness.
It had been power.
Untamed. Untrained. Misunderstood.
Mine.
And for the first time in my life—I didn’t feel crazy.
I wasn’t possessed.
I wasn’t broken.
I wasn’t something to be fixed, dulled, or hidden away.
I was something else.
Something rare.
Something dangerous.
Something special.
And maybe—just maybe—something that finally belonged somewhere.
I exhaled slowly, steadying myself as the weight of it settled in my chest—not heavy this time, not suffocating.
Grounding.
Real.
“I’m not crazy,” I whispered.
The words didn’t sound fragile.
They sounded like truth.
And as I stepped forward—toward a world my aunt and uncle could never understand, toward a future none of those doctors could have predicted—I felt something shift deep inside me.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
Power.
And this time, I wasn’t going to let anyone take it away.
