They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. But all I see when I look into my eyes is the color of gold. Gold means pure, and I’m not pure. My eyes are like that of a cat, and cats can be gods or devils, depending on what religion you follow. So who’s to say what that means? If my eyes really did show my soul, they’d show the faces of all the people I’ve killed or the rotting corpses I grew up among. The splintering crucifix I hung upon for three days, the only person I truly loved and trusted, me beating the devil at the crossroads, or the years amounting upon years.

But my eyes are gold, and I am not pure.


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