Sponsor the Shapeshifter.

Words seemed to stick to me like the heat of the summer sun. They felt viscous before they indeed ever burned. I wouldn't say I liked the way they left me feeling exposed, the way someone would call me out on the lines they willed in another light. Maybe I should have asked what difference it makes. They'll be gone by September. And you'll have forgotten all about these fits of ember.

My life burned with an intense desire racing most days, just as any heat rises when dry timber gets put into the fire. I guess that's what they meant when they said I let my emotions run wild. But they never seemed to mind the warmth of a slow-burning fire. Voices are rising like the crackle of my defeat. Go ahead and turn to move away your cowardly feet.

No one ever really knew me, but they felt me differently, like the tales of a liar. Things they didn't want to know but secretly sought. Like one red thread that could lead them to what could never be fought. I was the monster of their creation, a sickness aching in their complete devastation. I am not your savior, and I sure as hell am not your monster. All I regret and desire is knowing a world where we become our inevitable sponsor.