He calls me Thorn. And has since we were born.

No one knows about me. Not Celestia, not Luna, and certainly not Twilight.

He keeps me chained but sometimes will reach into the darkness

Into my domain where I haunt

My scythe reaps

My lion’s mane of knives

Stained crimson

He reaches out to touch me. If only a moment.

For I am the ink of his quill

That writes his deepest truths

Bleeds life into his dull words.

Does he fear me? I couldn’t say. Perhaps, he fears himself?

Or the wonders we could do

Together.

Author's Note

The best person to write about your shadow is your shadow. He is violent, cruel, but artistic and creative beyond measure. Do you let him out? Do you let him win? Can you release all sense of order, and let him write for you?