Dominator

I did not mean to consume her. But I grew large in silence—towering, smouldering, unresolved. She stood in the centre of me and I did not know how to stop rising. My presence was once protection. Then possession. Now—perhaps—regret. She does not look at me, yet I see her clearly. Her stillness accuses me. I built myself from fire and shadows, but they’ve turned soft at the edges—no longer rage, but shame. She does not resist. That is what haunts me most. What I thought was closeness… was conquest.