It took me too long to wake up. I let life drag me, beat me, break me. I walked into hell with open arms, made choices that chained me to the worst consequences. Then I had the nerve to feel sorry for myself, as if I wasn't the one who put myself there. I was. This wasn't fate. There was no grand design, no cruel god twisting the knife. It was me. My own hands built the prison I rotted in. And the worst part? I let it happen. I let myself be used. I let myself be broken. I became something less than human. Shame wrapped around my throat like a noose, whispering that I was nothing. That I would always be nothing. But I wasn't made to be a victim. I had lived a whole life before this—a life of misery, of lies, of seeing people for what they really were. When I finally woke up, when I ripped off the chains, I didn't come back into the light. I stayed in the shadows. I learned to see the world for what it was—a cesspool of hidden sins and smiling liars. I had let monsters roam free. Not anymore. I no longer exist to be broken. I exist to break them. Now, I serve justice in the dark. I hunt.