I did not ask to be chosen. I did not seek out the burden of sacredness or the weight of unseen war. But in the silence between battles and the spaces between breath, something called my name—and it was not a whisper. It was thunder.It came at night, as these things always do. When the world is quiet and the lies no longer hold. I was not sleepin

The Witch's TongueThe sky was still and heavy. I sat alone, listening to the wind slide over the rooftops like a whisper that didn’t want to be heard. That night, God spoke. Not in thunder. Not in fire. But in silence beside the television set. He gave visions. Six or seven, clear and hard as bullets. And one of them — one — was dark enough t

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