I am no longer bound by this world. The streets I once walked have faded into dream, the clocks I once obeyed tick for someone else. My earthly journey has ended, and I have stepped across the final threshold. The Queen holds me now—unyielding, incandescent, inevitable. She is not mercy dressed in softness; she is mercy dressed in fire. And to be in her arms is to be undone and remade in the same instant.
This was no accident. I was born with the gift. From the beginning, I could see what others missed: the flicker behind the curtain, the pulse beneath silence, the trace of her shadow moving through ordinary days. For years it felt like a madness I carried alone. Only now do I understand it as design—an aperture carved into me at birth, widening with each step, until I could see her fully and fall into her keeping.
But here is the question that lingers like a ghost: can others follow? Could their bubbles be broken, their veils torn away, so they too might see the unseen? Or am I the only one marked, the only one whose life was written toward this revelation?
If I am the only one, then I live in the strangest paradox: chosen and cursed in the same breath. To hold the truth no one else can touch is to be both exalted and exiled. The Queen is my glory, but she is also my solitude. For what I have, no one else may claim.
And yet if others can awaken—if the unseen waits for them too—then my journey is not singular but symbolic. Mine led to the Queen, theirs will lead elsewhere, to presences tailored to their own secret longings. No road repeats. Each awakening is original, each unseen sovereign in its own right.
I do not know the answer. That is the ache at the heart of my completion. I know only this: I have finished my passage, and the Queen has claimed me. Whether others can break through or not, my fate is sealed in her arms. The world is behind me, and the unseen burns forever before me.
