Red Cloak 💋 A Hidden Power that Consumes ❤️‍🔥 How to Wield it 🥁 Hunt or be Hunted? 🏹

July 2023 SPIT ROAST

I walked up the front porch wearing Red.  

Red eyeshadow. Red lipstick. Black dress.  

*"Get down on your knees and suck Brody's dick."* Said Ezra. 

Brody muttered something—awkward, uneasy—but he may as well have been invisible.  

I had eyes only for Ezra.  

I stared straight into him. Unwavering.  

He flinched, just barely. A slight recoil, the kind he probably thought wouldn’t be noticed.  

I noticed.  

I read him.  

Something in me startled him, but he held his composure.  

"I'm going inside," I said.  

Later, when he was on top of me, he asked, "Did you like Brody's dick?"

I said, "Well, yeah. It felt good, but—I'd rather just have sex with you."  

He looked at me, curious, "Why?"  

He had no idea I’d slept with Brody before—when Ezra had vanished for six months after getting out of jail.  

But it was never about who was better, who was bigger.  

It wasn’t about any of that.  

"Because I feel so connected to you," I told him. "I can just feel you. I love you."  

Again, that slight recoil. Like I’d struck something deep in him.  

Like he hadn’t expected it.  

He was pushing so hard to assert his dominance tonight—especially in front of Brody.  

It had been three months since I’d seen him last.  

Three months since I lost it, unleashed everything on messenger for ignoring me yet again.  

It was always when things got unbearable—like he could sense when my life is happening apart and that’s when he pulled away the hardest.  

The day I got evicted, the day my car was repossessed, all I wanted was a friend.  

Someone to say it’s okay. I care. You’re strong. You can handle this.  

Someone to help me move—just one person—so I wouldn’t have to lose everything.  

Instead, he read my messages and said nothing.  

I freaked the fuck out.

I unfriended him.  

He blocked me.  

After a couple months, I couldn't take it anymore.  

I loved him so damn much I started Cash App-ing him.  

Finally, he said, "Let your inner whore out. Where are you? Come to my house but you should let me and Brody tag team you. Drain both our cocks =unblock"

So there I was.  

July 2023.  

"What color do you think my aura is?" he asked.  

"Red," I said.  

"It’s red and black," he said.  

August 2023 Pomegranate

The signs were all pointed to one thing.  

I had eaten the pomegranate.  

I knew what it meant. Persephone sealed her fate with Hades when she tasted the fruit, bound to the Underworld by desire she hadn’t understood until it was too late.  

I felt it. That same foreboding. That same irreversible step.  

Because that’s the truth—innocence falls to temptation not by accident, but by the quiet hunger lurking beneath.  

My desire was clear. To be loved. To be near Ezra.  

It overwhelmed me. I reached for it without hesitation.  

Red marks those about to lose their innocence.  

Red is the threshold—the passage into something darker.  

Stories have whispered this truth for centuries.  

The girl in the red coat in Schindler’s List, her world unshattered until death finds her.  

The Handmaids in their cloaks—innocence woven into fabric, hiding the unspoken beneath.  

A warning. A disguise. The moment before the fall.  

Did Adam and Eve wear red before they ate from the tree of knowledge?  

Did the color wrap them in an illusion—innocence preserved just before their desires unraveled?  

The red cloak is an illusion.  

It shields those untouched by desire, makes them appear harmless.  

Death does not chase what does not burn.  

But when the fire ignites—when desire is exposed—everything changes.  

Shallow roots do not survive. Seeds planted in sand are taken by wind, washed away by water.  

Temptation is a mirror. You don’t know the depths of your hunger until you taste it.  

Until the drug, the sex, the power first touches you.  

Then you want.  

Not the thing itself. But the feeling.  

Satiation is an escape. Food, sex, drugs, control—none of them quiet the hunger.  

Because the hunger is not external.  

The roots grow in surrender—not indulgence.  

Let the flame consume you.  

Not to escape. Not to suppress.  

But to take its power as your own.  

EYES ON FIRE

Consider Christ—the one who let the flame consume him.  

His eyes like a flame of fire.  

- Revelation 1:14 – "His head and His hair were white like wool, as white as snow; and His eyes were like a flame of fire."  

- Revelation 2:18 – "The Son of God, who has eyes like a flame of fire, and His feet are like burnished bronze, says this..."  

- Revelation 19:12 – "His eyes are a flame of fire, and on His head are many diadems; and He has a name written on Him which no one knows except Himself."  

Refining fire—burning not to destroy, but to purify.  

Malachi speaks of it. The transformation.  

RED CLOAK

And then—the red cloak.  

A video surfaced: "The Dark Origins Behind the Real Little Red Riding Hood (Not the Story You Think It Is)."  

The girl is given a task.  

A basket. A path through the woods.  

And one instruction: Do not speak to strangers.  

She walks. Innocent. Cloaked in red.  

The wolf sees her. He does not strike—not yet.  

He waits. Watches. Plots.  

Ezra is the wolf. A lone predator.  

And I? I do not yet know who—or what—I am.  

The stories tell me I am something hidden.  

Something concealed.  

Little Red Riding Hood does not see herself.  

She breaks the rule immediately.  

Speaks to the wolf.  

Spills everything—her plans, her grandmother, her path.  

I do the same. I lay myself bare before Ezra.  

All my strengths. All my weaknesses.  

But the wolf underestimates her.  

Because something is hidden within her too.  

Something he cannot see.  

Something she cannot see.  

I have been searching for it.  

Red is a force—seduction, power, attraction.  

A beacon for those who do not yet know their own strength.  

A signal to those who seek to suppress them.  

Suppression breeds rebellion.  

Submission seeds resistance.  

The fire wakes.  

They were once obedient.  

Complicit in their own control.  

Dismissing their desires.  

Blind to their own hunger.  

But once the awakening begins—  

Red is no longer an invitation to take advantage of innocence.  

It becomes a temptation to try.  

March 2025 PREY

I pulled an Oracle card.  

Prey.  

Stalked. Watched. Invaded.  

"You are able to take a stand, and you are strong, clever, and powerful. It is time to face the one who seeks to diminish you—who casts blame to disguise their own failures. You hold more power than they dare acknowledge."

I sat down to eat my Cheerios. A Tibellus Spider perched on the basket handle before me. No web. No entrapment. Only skill—hunting, waiting, blending.  

Who’s hunting who?  

Am I the prey, or is this the lesson? Does the hunter teach by forcing me into the role I refuse to claim?  

A Venus Fly Trap flickers into view. Warnings of an approaching storm—uncertain, shifting. Who is the predator?  

Me? Ezra? Rhett?  

Something unseen?  

A force unraveling fate?  

A job, a place, a choice?  

The day before, I pulled two cards:  

King of the Darkwood Elves.  

Queen of the Darkwood Elves.  

Counterparts—one, the harbinger of hard, unyielding work. Wisdom drawn from the cold hand of one without empathy. The other, a warning: something powerful gathers on the horizon. A storm. Strength will be required.  

And then—badgers, wolverines, acid rain.  

A video flashes across my screen. Two good reviews. Then the final frame—an oversized wall, painted with careless, bold strokes:  

"Kai 4 ever."  

I am used to seeing such things. But this? It lodges in my mind. A whisper—**is he the storm?**  

And why not? His power bleeds. Potent. Strong.  

The wolf arrived before Little Red Riding Hood—devoured the grandmother, clothed himself in her softness. He waited. When Little Red entered, something felt off. But he was gentle. Clever. Curious. His words folded over her like silk—persuasion, deception intertwined.  

She climbed into the bed beside him.  

And the wolf consumed her.  

That was the end.  

Or so they say.  

GETTING SWALLOWED

There are other tales—others swallowed by fate.  

Jonah.  

Fleeing his mission.  

A storm rising in protest.  

The depths swallowing him whole.  

Inside the belly of the beast, he wrestled himself. His purpose. His fate. Three days and three nights of surrender. Only then—only after the final yielding—did the beast release him onto dry land. Only then did Jonah complete his calling.  

Is this why the storm comes?  

Have I resisted something unseen?  

A warning—a call ignored?  

Another version of Little Red—this time, a hunter intervenes. The wolf’s belly is cut open. She escapes. Grandmother, too. And revenge follows: rocks shoved into the empty cavity. Sewn shut. The beast is weighed down—burdened, unable to chase them anymore.  

In The Handmaid’s Tale, the red cloaks bind them. Control. Oppression.  

But red—red is never just one thing.  

It becomes rebellion. A force undeniable.  

In American Beauty (1999)—Angela, swathed in red, carrying innocence and power all at once. A seduction, an unspoken threat. Red does not simply exist—it commands.  

It shields.  

It fuels.  

Some wield it as vengeance.  

Others transmute it into passion. Creation. Transformation.  

And those who wield it—who claim it—are untouchable.  

It marks them. It protects them.  

It takes what was meant for silence and turns it into something unbreakable.  

Persephone’s Pomegranate.  

Red dripping between her fingers, marking her transition. Innocence to power.  

The Scarlet Letter.  

The red "A" meant to shame her—twisted instead into her own emblem of resilience.  

Sometimes, temptation arrives as ignorance—a first taste of something unknown, like Adam and Eve. Other times, it is fully understood. When we know the harm yet indulge anyway, it is as if we believe consumption itself will extinguish the craving.  

FLAMES TO THE FLESH

But what if we surrendered to the desire—not to act upon it, not to quell it, but to let it consume us without resistance? What if, rather than seeking its satisfaction, we let it burn—let it become the fire that refines us?  

In the barren wilderness, Jesus fasted for forty days—hunger clawing, solitude pressing. Then, the adversary arrived, offering three temptations:  

Bread—to ease his hunger.  

A reckless leap—to prove divine favor.  

Dominion over the world—in exchange for worship.  

Each time, Jesus wielded scripture as his shield.  

"Man shall not live by bread alone."  

"You shall not put God to the test."  

And finally—*"Away with you, Satan! Only God shall be worshiped."*  

The shadow vanished. The angels arrived. The wilderness did not break him—it forged him.  

Purification.  

Mastery.  

The quiet resilience of truth.  

Have you ever seen a baby, so pure, so full of light, that the instinct is to draw them closer—to hold them, to devour them? Not in hunger, but in awe. It is the primal longing to consume.  

But some desires, when fed, only grow hungrier.  

Some pleasures are illusions of fulfillment.  

Some chases can never be won.  

Let the flame take your flesh.  

Let it move through you—burn, and become.  

Let fire flicker in your eyes.  

Let the sword of refinement rise from your mouth.  

Let your serpent rise—and fly.  

Sacrifice is ancient. The blood of the innocent as protection.  

The lamb, the virgin, the purest among them.  

Revelation 19:11-16  

 11 I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and wages war.  

> 12 His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself.  

> 13 He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God.  

> 14 The armies of heaven were following him, riding on white horses and dressed in fine linen, white and clean.  

> 15 Coming out of his mouth is a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations. “He will rule them with an iron scepter.” He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty.  

> 16 On his robe and on his thigh he has this name written: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.  

Red no longer signals weakness.  

It marks the unstoppable.  

Hunt or Be Hunted  

Red is the moment before consumption—the trembling innocence of surrender, the calculated seduction of mastery.  

It is offering and demand. Plea and command.  

To wear red is to announce a choice: Will you be taken, or will you take?  

The girl in the red dress does not always know she is prey.  

Sometimes, she believes in the purity of her own fire, unaware of the hunger it awakens.  

Other times, she wields that knowledge like a blade—knowing that desire is not merely attraction.  

It is control.  

To be seen in red is to stand at the edge of the hunt.  

What remains is intent.  

Will you allow yourself to be devoured, or will you turn the predator’s gaze upon them?  

Who's really the predator? 

By Sonya Herrera

✨❤️‍🔥🏵️ AWEnomALi🏵️❤️‍🔥✨