We offer you our vilest wit, our most decadent prose, and our softest paw.
But know that in even the softest paw lies the sharpest claw.

The world howls, the ground shakes,
but we don’t flinch. We don’t break.
Soft does not mean weak.
You are claw and thorn, blood and ember,
a wildfire in the shape of a storm.

The weight is brutal, the climb is cruel,
but I’m right here, right next to you.
Fangs bared, hands locked, side by side, step for step
if the world wants war, then let it come.
They don’t know freedom like we do.

They know nothing of steel spines,
or lightning hearts.
Our love is a weapon, and we would wield it to the grave.
The past is dust in our wake,
bones buried, bridges burned.

We owe it nothing.

No ghost,
no chain,
no whisper of doubt—
only the echoes of battles won,
the proof that we are still here,
still standing, still ravenous.

And the future?
It is ours to take, to tame,
to tear apart and shape anew.
No fate written, no road set—
only open sky, only endless wild,
and us, untamed, unbroken,
carving our names into the marrow of time.

Let them hurl their storms,
let them send their wolves—
we were built for this, my love.

You and us,
just flashing teeth in the dark,
wild and unshaken,
rising, always rising.

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