Plucking out each feather, one by one.
It does not come close to what I feel.

Yank them out, twitch, clench your teeth,
but eventually the scream will come.
Remember that moment,
And the silence that follows.

You do not exist any longer.

No, not to me.

-Rhelora Silverain

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Midsummer, in the year 185 MA.