Their Satan

I did it.
It's over.
Isn't it?
It's not.
Some hate my existence, hate that I'm in this position.
Others praise my name, thrilled for the change I represent.
I want to be what Hell needs, but I'm terrified everyone sees the cracks forming.
The voice in my head—the figure in my dreams—calls out to me, and I can't figure out if they're a friend or foe.
The scariest part? I want to let them in...and I don't know how much longer I can resist.