The Unravelling

 

 All I wanted was one incorruptible truth to call my own. 

But truth is organic, like a strand of DNA.  It can mutate, or combine with other strands, until it evolves into something no longer bearing even a passing resemblance to its original self.  For too long my truth did just that—twisting and changing, attaching itself to others, until it became the worst kind of Frankenstein.  But it was not built to survive.  

And neither was I.

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