I have seen firsthand how the poison makes its shadows. I know how it takes lives and twists them, how it coaxes them onward with song and warmth. It promises them their every need and desire, but it only leads them down, down into the depths of madness. It is a pit so deep that none can return from it. Even the strongest. Even the most brilliant.
Yet the darkest shadows are the ones that were never truly alive to begin with, the ones born of the violet poison itself. Titanic manifestations of its ravenous hunger and endless hatred.
More than that, they are its avatars, made of its very essence. They carry pieces of the poison's collective consciousness, and they spread its influence. Destroying them would wound the poison itself.
They are both its strength and its weakness.