at the end of it, you’re always just the point of someone else’s story, everyone clamoring to say what you were, what you meant, and your thoughts on it all don’t mean nothing.
[Image description: a portrait of Agnes Montague from The Magnus Archives. She is a thin white woman with long, straight red hair partially hiding her face, and she’s looking straight ahead. The background is black, and there is a white spider dangling above Agnes’s head and various hands reaching up around her from the bottom of the picture. End description.]