Born of Ashes: A Villain's Lam

If ever I became a villain, it would not be out of malice, but from wounds too deep to heal, from love turned into ash and hope shattered beneath the weight of betrayal. I would be the villain born from silence— From the echo of words unsaid, From the hands I reached for but never grasped, From the bridges I built only to see them burn, lit by the very ones I sought to save. I would wear the darkness like armor, not because I crave destruction, but because the light once cut me too deeply. I would be the villain who speaks softly, who moves among the ruins of memories, carving paths no one dared to walk. But even villains mourn. Even in hatred, there is a flicker of pain— A reminder of the love that could have been, the story that might have saved me if only someone had stayed. And so, I would become the villain not for power, not for vengeance, but because the world left me no other choice than to rise from the wreckage alone.