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.