Dark magic. One year ago today. 3 October.

It’s as if all the women I know (and a few men as well) intuited that the only way to stop this horrorshow in its tracks is to perform this grievous self-sacrifice, performing the darkest magic of all: baring your most terrified self, your most vulnerable self for all disbelievers, all the uncaring, soulless ones to feast upon in hopes that the monsters will be sated and turn away to other, less-destructive activities.

And when you’ve finished screaming and weeping and shaking, you awaken to the realization that they only want more. They want you dead. And they don’t care how it happens.

We cannot let this happen.

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