You claimed to live in fear, that I was the danger to your life, to your family … even to children, you devious slanderer. But as with everything else, it was dramatics … and you lied. You knew me. You knew I was gentle. You knew that I only wanted to hold you and was a threat to none. And you knew that you had instigated my thoughtless, short-lived rage with your deception. You were well aware that you had nothing to fear from me. It was a ruse you plied for leverage, to make everyone believe that you were innocent and I the monster. And, of course, it worked, as you played the powerless little girl. You spun a nightmare for the ears of others wholly from your yarn of spite. 

But what is the truth of your danger, for you are in jeopardy? What is the real threat to your well-being, o ye pit bull? You feigned fear of me, but was I the one who abused you? No, shame on you for inventing that lie, for projecting the malevolence of others onto me. Those who abused you, and will abuse you again, are those you’ve always kept closest, those you knew, those you cling to and others like them, even now, a fraudulent loyalty to your circle, from whence your abusers came and will come again, men with illnesses … sexual and moral deviants for diamonds. You adhere to bad men, even degenerates for clout, and, yet, you claimed fear of me. No, my dear, they, the ones you keep, the ones you choose, are the real threat to you and have been in the past, for you mean nothing to them but an easy mark. You meant everything to me. But that is the world you choose to let in. No, my dear, I am not a threat and never was. The real danger to you is yourself and your choices, those with whom you consort, the vile men you choose. 

I was never your danger, and, when our actions are weighed, you are the killer. My only threat to you is that truth, for which you’ve sought to bury me.