"Some gifts burn; some curses bloom." Love is hatred, as life is death, and those who reach for light are shown their sight by dark unseen. For Satan is not who, but what, not horned, nor crowned in hellish fire; he lives not where the world points down. He wears the face of one you love, dwells in the space where two hearts meet; he feeds on more than broken trust, though sometimes, he is called love. The kind that tempts you to undo their skin, for their smile is a dangerous flame; the kind that longs to smother that fire, to keep them from their own burning. For he has ever burned by love, and for love’s sake; the light unmade his sight, till heat and harm were twinned. To love so deeply is a weight and a wing; for joy is found in what one gives, yet every love is taught to mourn. And so the question burns: is it curse... or is it gift?