There is silence for a few seconds as it senses her worry- and, more specifically, who the worry is about. The rage of the thing beneath the soil grows even more in response, and Merabelle can see her own shadow twist into a new shape- that of a person in long flowing robes, with innumerable writhing tendrils around its head.
" . . . Y o u k n o w h e r . . ."
She gets from her seated position, standing up to face the shadowy beast, knowing who they are referring to from context clues "She is my daughter, and if ya think yer gonna do anythin' ta her, yer someone who ain't got any clue who I am."
The shadow grimaces back at her.
". . . S h e i s M Y c r e a t i o n , a n d I a m g o i n g t o t a k e h e r h o m e , a n d f i x h e r . . . M a k e h e r w h a t s h e w a s m e a n t t o b e . . ."
The creature lays the body onto the rot, bowing. "Feast....hungry...forever starving..." it whispers, its voice slightly distorted.
"P o t e n t i a l p u p p e t s a r e o f f - l i m i t s. . ." It responds- a flat statement, not a suggestion. ". . . Y o u c a n h a v e a l l t h e r e s t . . . U n d e r s t o o d ? . ."
"Yess..." it hisses, bowing lower
"G o o d . . ." It replies, seeming satisfied that it got the message across.
It offers some dead corpses to the rot.
The blight accepts, shadowy tendrils wrapping around the corpses and dissolving them into shadowy ichor in seconds, letting the fluid seep into the soil and join the rest of the corruption.
It backs away, teeth glinting in a malformed smile
The shadow's head splits open, a crooked grin on its face as well.
"T h e r e i s o n e I a m h u n t i n g , a n d y o u w i l l h e l p m e f i n d h e r . . ." It isn't asking.
It chuckles, sounding like radio static. "Yes....you want it alive?"
". . . I t d o e s n ' t m a t t e r e i t h e r w a y . . ." It responds, laughing a bit as well.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
There is silence for a few seconds as it senses her worry- and, more specifically, who the worry is about. The rage of the thing beneath the soil grows even more in response, and Merabelle can see her own shadow twist into a new shape- that of a person in long flowing robes, with innumerable writhing tendrils around its head.
" . . . Y o u k n o w h e r . . ."
She gets from her seated position, standing up to face the shadowy beast, knowing who they are referring to from context clues "She is my daughter, and if ya think yer gonna do anythin' ta her, yer someone who ain't got any clue who I am."
The shadow grimaces back at her.
". . . S h e i s M Y c r e a t i o n , a n d I a m g o i n g t o t a k e h e r h o m e , a n d f i x h e r . . . M a k e h e r w h a t s h e w a s m e a n t t o b e . . ."
"I ain't got a second ta care who made her. She chose ta be my daughter, she's actually got some love fer me. She don't need ta be fixed by nobody, especially not some shadow covered [gp]." She says, rage spitting out into her words "How 'bout ya get the [gp] out my forest?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
It chuckles, sounding like radio static. "Yes....you want it alive?"
". . . I t d o e s n ' t m a t t e r e i t h e r w a y . . ." It responds, laughing a bit as well.
It nods. "Show...me what...it looks like.."
The shadow contorts into a new shape for a while- what looks like a child, with similar tendril 'hair'- before reverting back to its original form, making the change back include brief but needlessly graphic imagery of the child's shadow being torn apart.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
As it appeared in a flash of camera lights like a paparazzi firefly show, it now stood out in front of the tavern. Thirteen feet tall and a few inches, it knew it damn couldn't open the door to the tavern and gracefully walk into it. It raised a gloved hand as the doorway seemed to stretch, opening to fit its size before shrinking once again when it got inside. The reality seemed to warp around it, making sure it didn't bump its head on the ceiling, after all.. it did just get its hair done.
It looked like a man, well if you could look past the thirteen foot stature. Fair skin like the color of diced almonds, slicked back black hair kept somehow kept together without gel of any kind, glittering eyes that seem to change color from red to green and then green to blue and back. It wears a completely black suit with a matching tie, cufflinks, and leather shoes. Its gloved hands seem to be elongated almost, with claw-like fingernails.
It sits down at a table that seems to accommodate its size and crosses a leg over its knee. Its smile never seems to leave its face, an actor's smile, never wavering. Somehow, one of the waiters stops aiding some folk, leaving mid-conversation and turning to assist the man. The waiter brings back a cup of coffee and bows to it before their head suddenly shakes, suddenly snapping out of their daze.
It sits down, looking at the child "Sad... I... am... s-sorry..."
"...I...do not...mind.."
It's head twists to look at them "O-...kay..." It twists back "Do you... want to... hunt?"
It's head twitches. "Someone has...passed...the bones...in my territory...let us..hunt.."
It stands back up, and begins stalking behind them. The child on the pillow follow silently.
They cross through some trees, skeletons marking his territory. They see a few villagers with spears and torches walking around. Their torches flicker, dimming slowly.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
It chuckles, sounding like radio static. "Yes....you want it alive?"
". . . I t d o e s n ' t m a t t e r e i t h e r w a y . . ." It responds, laughing a bit as well.
It nods. "Show...me what...it looks like.."
The shadow contorts into a new shape for a while- what looks like a child, with similar tendril 'hair'- before reverting back to its original form, making the change back include brief but needlessly graphic imagery of the child's shadow being torn apart.
It smiles gruesomely, going to hunt for the child.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
There is silence for a few seconds as it senses her worry- and, more specifically, who the worry is about. The rage of the thing beneath the soil grows even more in response, and Merabelle can see her own shadow twist into a new shape- that of a person in long flowing robes, with innumerable writhing tendrils around its head.
" . . . Y o u k n o w h e r . . ."
She gets from her seated position, standing up to face the shadowy beast, knowing who they are referring to from context clues "She is my daughter, and if ya think yer gonna do anythin' ta her, yer someone who ain't got any clue who I am."
The shadow grimaces back at her.
". . . S h e i s M Y c r e a t i o n , a n d I a m g o i n g t o t a k e h e r h o m e , a n d f i x h e r . . . M a k e h e r w h a t s h e w a s m e a n t t o b e . . ."
"I ain't got a second ta care who made her. She chose ta be my daughter, she's actually got some love fer me. She don't need ta be fixed by nobody, especially not some shadow covered [gp]." She says, rage spitting out into her words "How 'bout ya get the [gp] out my forest?"
The shadow smiles, knowing damn well it isn't going anywhere.
"Y o u r e a l l y d o n ' t k n o w ? . . W h a t s h e ' s c a p a b l e o f . . . W h a t s h e w i l l b e c o m e w i t h o u t m e . . . D o y o u ? . ."
As it appeared in a flash of camera lights like a paparazzi firefly show, it now stood out in front of the tavern. Thirteen feet tall and a few inches, it knew it damn couldn't open the door to the tavern and gracefully walk into it. It raised a gloved hand as the doorway seemed to stretch, opening to fit its size before shrinking once again when it got inside. The reality seemed to warp around it, making sure it didn't bump its head on the ceiling, after all.. it did just get its hair done.
It looked like a man, well if you could look past the thirteen foot stature. Fair skin like the color of diced almonds, slicked back black hair kept somehow kept together without gel of any kind, glittering eyes that seem to change color from red to green and then green to blue and back. It wears a completely black suit with a matching tie, cufflinks, and leather shoes. Its gloved hands seem to be elongated almost, with claw-like fingernails.
It sits down at a table that seems to accommodate its size and crosses a leg over its knee. Its smile never seems to leave its face, an actor's smile, never wavering. Somehow, one of the waiters stops aiding some folk, leaving mid-conversation and turning to assist the man. The waiter brings back a cup of coffee and bows to it before their head suddenly shakes, suddenly snapping out of their daze.
Leo looks at the man from his table, eyebrow raised as he tinkers with some gears.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
They cross through some trees, skeletons marking his territory. They see a few villagers with spears and torches walking around. Their torches flicker, dimming slowly.
The villagers feel an intense cold slowly filling the air as the water within solidifies into a mist. The shadowy Wendigo circles the group of villagers.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
As it appeared in a flash of camera lights like a paparazzi firefly show, it now stood out in front of the tavern. Thirteen feet tall and a few inches, it knew it damn couldn't open the door to the tavern and gracefully walk into it. It raised a gloved hand as the doorway seemed to stretch, opening to fit its size before shrinking once again when it got inside. The reality seemed to warp around it, making sure it didn't bump its head on the ceiling, after all.. it did just get its hair done.
It looked like a man, well if you could look past the thirteen foot stature. Fair skin like the color of diced almonds, slicked back black hair kept somehow kept together without gel of any kind, glittering eyes that seem to change color from red to green and then green to blue and back. It wears a completely black suit with a matching tie, cufflinks, and leather shoes. Its gloved hands seem to be elongated almost, with claw-like fingernails.
It sits down at a table that seems to accommodate its size and crosses a leg over its knee. Its smile never seems to leave its face, an actor's smile, never wavering. Somehow, one of the waiters stops aiding some folk, leaving mid-conversation and turning to assist the man. The waiter brings back a cup of coffee and bows to it before their head suddenly shakes, suddenly snapping out of their daze.
Leo looks at the man from his table, eyebrow raised as he tinkers with some gears.
Leo, being a son of a god, can tell this to is a god. The New God of Entertainment, the one who ushered forth television and video.
They cross through some trees, skeletons marking his territory. They see a few villagers with spears and torches walking around. Their torches flicker, dimming slowly.
The villagers feel an intense cold slowly filling the air as the water within solidifies into a mist. The shadowy Wendigo circles the group of villagers.
They are on high alert, torches raised high. The creature stalks before lunging and snatching one up, silencing it screams with a bite to its head.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
As it appeared in a flash of camera lights like a paparazzi firefly show, it now stood out in front of the tavern. Thirteen feet tall and a few inches, it knew it damn couldn't open the door to the tavern and gracefully walk into it. It raised a gloved hand as the doorway seemed to stretch, opening to fit its size before shrinking once again when it got inside. The reality seemed to warp around it, making sure it didn't bump its head on the ceiling, after all.. it did just get its hair done.
It looked like a man, well if you could look past the thirteen foot stature. Fair skin like the color of diced almonds, slicked back black hair kept somehow kept together without gel of any kind, glittering eyes that seem to change color from red to green and then green to blue and back. It wears a completely black suit with a matching tie, cufflinks, and leather shoes. Its gloved hands seem to be elongated almost, with claw-like fingernails.
It sits down at a table that seems to accommodate its size and crosses a leg over its knee. Its smile never seems to leave its face, an actor's smile, never wavering. Somehow, one of the waiters stops aiding some folk, leaving mid-conversation and turning to assist the man. The waiter brings back a cup of coffee and bows to it before their head suddenly shakes, suddenly snapping out of their daze.
Leo looks at the man from his table, eyebrow raised as he tinkers with some gears.
Leo, being a son of a god, can tell this to is a god. The New God of Entertainment, the one who ushered forth television and video.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Gods please don't let him be like Apollo...that's all I ask.." he mumbles.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
There is silence for a few seconds as it senses her worry- and, more specifically, who the worry is about. The rage of the thing beneath the soil grows even more in response, and Merabelle can see her own shadow twist into a new shape- that of a person in long flowing robes, with innumerable writhing tendrils around its head.
" . . . Y o u k n o w h e r . . ."
She gets from her seated position, standing up to face the shadowy beast, knowing who they are referring to from context clues "She is my daughter, and if ya think yer gonna do anythin' ta her, yer someone who ain't got any clue who I am."
The shadow grimaces back at her.
". . . S h e i s M Y c r e a t i o n , a n d I a m g o i n g t o t a k e h e r h o m e , a n d f i x h e r . . . M a k e h e r w h a t s h e w a s m e a n t t o b e . . ."
"I ain't got a second ta care who made her. She chose ta be my daughter, she's actually got some love fer me. She don't need ta be fixed by nobody, especially not some shadow covered [gp]." She says, rage spitting out into her words "How 'bout ya get the [gp] out my forest?"
The shadow smiles, knowing damn well it isn't going anywhere.
"Y o u r e a l l y d o n ' t k n o w ? . . W h a t s h e ' s c a p a b l e o f . . . W h a t s h e w i l l b e c o m e w i t h o u t m e . . . D o y o u ? . ."
"Not fer a second, an' if it's hard fer ya ta tell, I ain't gonna start carin' any day. She is my daughter, whatever she comes, I ain't gonna stop lovin' her fer half a second." She crosses her arms, "I ain't gotta let ya lay a hand on 'em."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
They cross through some trees, skeletons marking his territory. They see a few villagers with spears and torches walking around. Their torches flicker, dimming slowly.
The villagers feel an intense cold slowly filling the air as the water within solidifies into a mist. The shadowy Wendigo circles the group of villagers.
They are on high alert, torches raised high. The creature stalks before lunging and snatching one up, silencing it screams with a bite to its head.
Another is grabbed through the mist, gone without a trace, the only tell what caused their disappearance being a sickening crunch that fills the air.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
"...I...do not...mind.."
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
The shadow grimaces back at her.
". . . S h e i s M Y c r e a t i o n , a n d I a m g o i n g t o t a k e h e r h o m e , a n d f i x h e r . . . M a k e h e r w h a t s h e w a s
m e a n t t o b e . . ."
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
It's head twists to look at them "O-...kay..." It twists back "Do you... want to... hunt?"
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
It's head twitches. "Someone has...passed...the bones...in my territory...let us..hunt.."
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
". . . I t d o e s n ' t m a t t e r e i t h e r w a y . . ." It responds, laughing a bit as well.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
It nods. "Show...me what...it looks like.."
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
"I ain't got a second ta care who made her. She chose ta be my daughter, she's actually got some love fer me. She don't need ta be fixed by nobody, especially not some shadow covered [gp]." She says, rage spitting out into her words "How 'bout ya get the [gp] out my forest?"
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
It stands back up, and begins stalking behind them. The child on the pillow follow silently.
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
The shadow contorts into a new shape for a while- what looks like a child, with similar tendril 'hair'- before reverting back to its original form, making the change back include brief but needlessly graphic imagery of the child's shadow being torn apart.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
Lights...
Camera...
ACTION!
As it appeared in a flash of camera lights like a paparazzi firefly show, it now stood out in front of the tavern. Thirteen feet tall and a few inches, it knew it damn couldn't open the door to the tavern and gracefully walk into it. It raised a gloved hand as the doorway seemed to stretch, opening to fit its size before shrinking once again when it got inside. The reality seemed to warp around it, making sure it didn't bump its head on the ceiling, after all.. it did just get its hair done.
It looked like a man, well if you could look past the thirteen foot stature. Fair skin like the color of diced almonds, slicked back black hair kept somehow kept together without gel of any kind, glittering eyes that seem to change color from red to green and then green to blue and back. It wears a completely black suit with a matching tie, cufflinks, and leather shoes. Its gloved hands seem to be elongated almost, with claw-like fingernails.
It sits down at a table that seems to accommodate its size and crosses a leg over its knee. Its smile never seems to leave its face, an actor's smile, never wavering. Somehow, one of the waiters stops aiding some folk, leaving mid-conversation and turning to assist the man. The waiter brings back a cup of coffee and bows to it before their head suddenly shakes, suddenly snapping out of their daze.
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
They cross through some trees, skeletons marking his territory. They see a few villagers with spears and torches walking around. Their torches flicker, dimming slowly.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
It smiles gruesomely, going to hunt for the child.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
The shadow smiles, knowing damn well it isn't going anywhere.
"Y o u r e a l l y d o n ' t k n o w ? . . W h a t s h e ' s c a p a b l e o f . . . W h a t s h e w i l l b e c o m e w i t h o u t m e . . . D o y o u ? . ."
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
Leo looks at the man from his table, eyebrow raised as he tinkers with some gears.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
The villagers feel an intense cold slowly filling the air as the water within solidifies into a mist. The shadowy Wendigo circles the group of villagers.
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
Leo, being a son of a god, can tell this to is a god. The New God of Entertainment, the one who ushered forth television and video.
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
They are on high alert, torches raised high. The creature stalks before lunging and snatching one up, silencing it screams with a bite to its head.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Gods please don't let him be like Apollo...that's all I ask.." he mumbles.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
"Not fer a second, an' if it's hard fer ya ta tell, I ain't gonna start carin' any day. She is my daughter, whatever she comes, I ain't gonna stop lovin' her fer half a second." She crosses her arms, "I ain't gotta let ya lay a hand on 'em."
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
Another is grabbed through the mist, gone without a trace, the only tell what caused their disappearance being a sickening crunch that fills the air.
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)