In the jungle, it’s not fangs that strike fear. It’s smiles. Fangs make you run, but false intentions make you draw nearer. We stubbornly search for monsters in the dark, but the most dangerous creatures wear familiar faces. It’s strange: reason needs facts, but blind hope needs only a hint. That is precisely why the best traps are not set out of fear. They are forged from our own desires. No one steps into the abyss crying for help — they go there for what they desperately lacked. The step seems like luck. A coincidence. Salvation. And then the fog lifts. And it turns out that the monster didn’t break the lock. We opened the door for it ourselves. True blindness isn’t the inability to read other people’s minds. It’s the inability to admit our own to ourselves. For it is precisely these that lead us to where our wings are broken. 🥀