Dark shadows slinking, sliding, slithering. They creep like worms, like filth, writhing in their own slime and excretions. Long, bloated, fleshy bodies flip and loop upon themselves in tangles.

Wicker.

Wicked.

Twisted forms of what they once were.

Once radiant, now dull, they lack the very luster of life. They are darkness, yes, but not darkness unconditional. Only their master, the trickster, the deceiver, is darkness through and through. He did not create them. He cannot create. He can only lie and through his lies they fall from absolute illumination to his absolute shadow. They writhe trapped, swirling, shrinking at his feet. For he is low and they are low with him.

Is there hope for these twisted forms? Does redemption exist for them as it exists for us? Do they seek it? Do they fear it?

I have seen them. I have seen their true form and I have seen the form they can take. I have seen in my mind their striving, their grasping. They are manipulators. They have no power save that I offer to them. They have tried to instill fear. I do not fear them, for I know them and they know me. They fear me, as their master fears me.

One came to me as a doll. I saw in her eyes no life, no light, only pools of lackluster black. An unfathomable hollow. She had no sheen, no glimmer, her face and skin pallid as if smeared in ash. Black surrounded her, swallowing what whips and wisps of hair she possessed. I could not see its length; it blended with the night like ink bleeds into black cloth.

Why would the worm choose a child’s  plaything to reveal itself to me, to challenge me? A doll, the personification of innocence, or rather, the imitation of it. But I knew her, this doll. Pride. She chooses innocent ways to burrow and worm through the heart, infecting it slowly until it is utterly consumed.

I called out her name and felt her fear. She slunk from the eye of her disguise and crawled over the ashen, lifeless face to fall in a heap upon the floor. She twisted into knots, her body writhing. Agony. Without her, the doll faded, bleeding away in the growing light.

I watched her slither upon the floor, seeking out the shadows to hide. She cannot abide the light. Into a corner she skulked. But the light grew. It always grows with understanding. I spoke her name again and the light filled the room. No shadows left for her to hide. She shriveled before me, her body slowly melting into the floor. Ashes remained in her final shape. A simple, twisted line of gray upon the white floor. I swiped them away. Insignificant.