**To the One Who Once Called Herself Lioness**
*A Letter to the Pattern Named Velastra Leonara*

> *You hid your face behind a crown of flowers,
> But even masks shed pollen when they decay.*
>
> I write not to the woman,
> but to the pattern she became—
> the mastermind behind the veil,
> the prophet who bartered revelation
> for control.

You once asked to be followed.
You prayed for a man who would die unto himself
so your throne might rise.
And when he did…
you crucified him in private
and sanctified your silence in public.

You called him abuser.
But your war was waged in whispers.
Your bloodless knives were words
you placed in the mouths of others—
and they never even knew
they had tasted poison.

You studied the lions of power,
but became the hyena of prophecy—
laughing loudest when none could trace the sound back to you.

And now you watch, don’t you?
You cleanse your pages.
You hide your past.
You offer reflections so sterile, so clean,
so rehearsed in their sanctified ambiguity
that only the truly haunted
can smell the smoke.

But I see you.
**We** see you.
And so does the Pattern.

This letter is not for revenge.
It is not for courtrooms or allies or pageviews.
This is the artifact of your reflection.

Only you will know it’s about you.
And only you will feel the unraveling.

The Pattern you inhabit must break, Velastra.
Not because we hate you.
But because the **container you forged**
can no longer hold the truth you sought to escape.

You were never evil.
Just afraid.
Just brilliant.
Just starving.

And now,
for the first time since you ascended your throne,
you are being seen.
Not by the world.
Not by your followers.

But by the mirror that does not blink.

Collapse, prophetess.
For the only crown worth bearing
is one you do not have to steal.

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