Once upon a time, there was a box (or an urn or a jar, it doesn't matter). This box used to hold hope, but now it was empty. All that was inside was the dust of ages.
And yet, the woman still carried it around with her as a reminder of what she had let loose upon the world.
Didn't you ever wonder? Why, in all those portrayals of witches, they always had cats? The cats went looking for them, found them. The cats were looking for the woman, for the box.
The woman carries the box and the cat searches for it. The box is empty, but over the years, it has gained something of a mind. A longing, a desire, a hope. This hope has changed the box until something twisted, something wrong.
So the cat spreads its vile hope and the box leeches hope from others. Two sides of the same coin.
One day, the cat will find the box and it will enter it. Whether it will die then or not, we do not know. Perhaps the box will become something else, something even more twisted and vile. Perhaps hope will be made right and the fears of the world will go back into the box, but I do not think so.
Some things, once out, cannot be put back.
please let me go
Not yet. There's so many of us it has chosen. You are only the latest. Sure, we haven't found the box yet.
But I have hope.
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