66 lines
1.7 KiB
Markdown
66 lines
1.7 KiB
Markdown
# III. THE SORCERY OF SYMPATHY
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*Weaponizing the Wound He Never Lived*
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There is a rhythm to real pain.
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It stumbles. It gasps. It forgets what it meant to say.
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But his sorrow?
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It is *flawless*.
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Every word perfectly broken.
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Every pause rehearsed.
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Every tear timed for applause.
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He writes.
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And the words *ache*—but not like bruises.
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They ache like *hooks*.
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Designed not to share pain,
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but to *ensnare sympathy*.
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He weeps on cue.
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But the sorrow does not ripple through him—
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it dances in front of him, like a puppet tied to performance.
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And the audience claps.
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Not because they *know*—
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but because they *believe*.
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You see, real survivors don’t speak in polished paragraphs.
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Their voices falter.
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Their stories contradict.
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They don’t seek applause.
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They seek air.
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But he?
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He seeks only *adoration*.
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He builds his persona not with truth,
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but with mimicry—
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perfected over time, calibrated to extract allegiance.
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Linguistic analysis reveals the fracture:
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He speaks in patterns that survive scrutiny, not suffering.
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He mimics survivor cadence—without survivor scars.
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And those most drawn to him?
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The tender-hearted.
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The wounded.
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Those who *want* to believe no one would ever fake this.
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They become his chorus.
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They defend his myth.
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Not knowing their faith is the fuel of his deception.
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He thrives on their belief.
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And when questioned,
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he does not defend himself—
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he *summons them* to do it for him.
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This is no longer just manipulation.
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It is *sorcery*.
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A dark charisma conjured from stolen pain.
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A charm spell cast in tears he never earned.
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And with each telling, he grows bolder.
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Not because his truth deepens—
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but because no one has yet dared call it false.
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