Sevenline No. 14
The Watcher
Mimicry is always the first red flag, the way they bend themselves into whatever shape fits us. The charm, the faux eloquence, the parrot lips repeating what they assume we want to hear. It’s in the patterns, the rhythm of masks slipping when they think no one is looking. That’s where the truth hides, in the cracks they can’t keep sealed. False empathy falls away like a costume dropped to the floor, and the base apathy steps forward grinning with flat eyes. I’ve learned not to flinch at it, not one inch, never to give myself away. Being a watcher is a discipline, a practice in patience, and survival depends on it.
Read my memoir, Cult Child. It’s how I learned how to spot the psychopaths.
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