You are a prism caught in the breath of the Infinite, scattering the One Light into a thousand hues. This dance of colors is the pageantry of your soul—its virtues, its wounds, its dreams—spun like banners in the wind of time.
There are those who come to you as quiet thieves, drawing out your pigments until your being pales; they are the appointed lessons, the chisels by which the Beloved sculpts away your excess.
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