#TW: blood and gore and suicidal ideation

[yurious-george]

4'33'', by John Cage, is commonly remembered as 4 and a half minutes of silence. But contrary to popular belief, the song is not actually meant to be the sound of silence, but the sound of quiet. Ambient noises contribute to - and consist of - the performance. True silence does not exist. If one tilts their head right, the whole world sings. and, with that said, a playlist.

yeah, this one's a doozy. hi, cubewatermelon and co. miss me?

rhetorical question. don't answer that.

A few nitty-gritty things out of the way, first. this is specifically intended for the 2018 mod team for the sleepless domain fans discord server, primarily cubewatermelon/mary cagle. Folks who knew me are welcome to look on, but I'm not going to do much to catch people up to speed. hi, everyone! hope you're well!

I also might be a bit disjointed or biased in my recollection. For reasons that will be made clear extremely soon, I can't put my childhood on a linear timeline. I can only express myself, and hope I don't mess it up horribly this time.

Noooowww to the big stuff. re: stalking; i genuinely didn't mean to stalk anyone, and when they told me to back off, i backed off. I am not willing to discuss this further. not being able to conceptualize other people's emotions or the consequences of my actions has caused some problems for me

that's an autism thing btw. im autistic i dont think i told anyone that

And now, the special guest you've all been waiting for: a big round of applause for the elephant in the room! In accordance with the WMA Declaration of Tokyo, the deliberate overprescription of psychotropic medication is a form of pharmacological torture. Most victims of pharmacological torture and experimentation are children, because it is nigh-impossible to sue for brain damage when there is no fully-formed adult brain for comparison prior to the abuse.

Torture is a strong word, but I don't have another word to use. psychiatric abuse usually describes mistreatment in psychiatric wards; pharmacological abuse describes a patient who takes advantage of a prescription; medical abuse is when a doctor (usually physically) abuses their patient. Being able to understand what happened to you is a form of agency, and I don't even have the words. I identify as a torture victim; this may change.

This high dose was precedented and legal, but the vaginal stretching of intersex infants is also legal. much involuntary psychiatric & psychotropic treatment (such as restraints and solitary confinement) are legal, and child marriage is legal. abuse is not abnormal: it is profoundly normal. Because something is normal, legal, and precedented does not prevent it from being torture.

and when your mother hands you a poison apple and says "here, eat this; it will be good for you; i hope someday you'll forgive me" you have to eat it, because you are eight years old and you don't get to argue with your mother. despite all this, I don't blame my aunt for refilling the high dose. when I said the dose was hurting me, she listened. (thank you, auntie. i wouldn't have gotten out without you.)

And this brings us to you. oh, you four. (five? i forget myself!)

I'd like to establish some context. I was used to things getting taken from me. friend groups in particular: I didn't expect to keep any friends, because I constantly expected to have to pack up and move on. I moved a lot in my childhood, and in Africa, i was constantly told that at some undetermined point in the near future, i'd have to go back to the states. living with my aunt was a temporary thing, i was expected to eventually move back in with my parents at some undetermined point in the future. I relied heavily on online friends because they were people I could have anywhere, so online communities were my only lifeline - not to mention, i was basically in solitary confinement while in Kenya.

Most of all, I was terrified of my mental health/actions being exposed, examined, found lacking, and ultimately excluded. (this is why i was so afraid of psychiatric wards.) When you decided something had to be done about me - cutting me off from the server so i had to speak with you - It was either comply with your demands to communicate (which I could not, and did not understand why) or lose the community. I was so, so afraid of you i wanted to die when you all confronted me, and of course i couldn't say that, because only manipulative people would say "your attempt to solve this problem makes me want to seriously hurt myself."

But then I got called manipulative anyway <3 yay <3

Seriously: I wasn't trying to manipulate anyone, and i have no idea how you can manipulate someone without intention. (ah, that felt good to say!) Between medication spellbinding, alexithymia, and prior abuse, all my thoughts were so disordered i genuinely couldn't explain myself most of the time. Looking back, I have no childhood memory where I was fully lucid. I leaned into a manic persona because it was the only way I had any agency at all. I was something beyond both reason and self-recognition, and I willingly tried to brute-force my way through an extreme trauma response to please you. And you still hit me with my worst nightmare. that's why i was mad at you lol

I was so, so afraid, all the time, and I didn't even have the tools to understand I was afraid. How could someone as confident and impulsive as me be so fearful all the time? Was that manic persona freedom? Or was it a longer leash?

(Forgive my impulse toward rhetoric. I shouldn't ask questions you can't answer.)

I also couldn't say how badly i was hurting, because that would be venting, but you also accused me of venting when I was just talking about my day? or what was on my mind? I didn't understand that very well. autism moment, don't bother explaining it now. I also couldn't burden people with my actual mental health problems, because making strangers deal with that would be toxic! I resent you for setting up a system where it seemed safest not to speak and then punishing me for my inability to communicate. I resent every system that set me up for failure and punished me for failing, including yours.

And yet - I know that was not your intent! I can see in retrospect how hard you tried to be kind using the tools you had. The people with power over me, who genuinely did not want to do me harm and gave me multiple second chances, still upheld and facilitated the systems that tortured me; a miniature parody of the psychiatric system. (talk therapy and communication are useless if you struggle with self-awareness.) The same is true for the source: No person in my psychiatric treatment wanted me to suffer, and yet, here I am: a torture victim without a torturer. (except my parents, sort of.)

The logical conclusion, then: the system only intends to heal those who are already compliant, or prioritize compliance. The rest of us are treated to induce compliance, and if we still cannot, we are sequestered away. My medicine made me sick, and my prescribers made money off of keeping me sick - off of my torture. This is not a conspiracy: it is my lived experience.

However, even if i could communicate perfectly, we still would have had massive communication issues. Like - you know that one page where ben and steffi talk about dating, and ben says he thought steffi was gay? and steffi gets super defensive and it escalates into a screaming fight? I found that offensive, because a character getting that offput by the concept of not liking men (or a man) is kind of lesbophobic! But I understood that it would be a pain to redraw/write the page so they they fight about something else, don't fight, or some other solution, so i didn't need it to be fixed - just wanted to point out that was a reasonable interpretation, and one to be aware of in the future. but somehow my concerns got interpreted as a phrasing issue…? like, Ms. Cagle rewrote the page to say "weren't into guys" instead of "gay"..? You were very polite about it, Ms! But I found this interaction so baffling I didn't even try to correct it. that… wasn't what i said…

frankly we should bring back mildly homophobic steffi. twas narratively appropriate (<- different essay for a different time)

but yeah the whole communication operation was doomed from the start. rip!

The issue was always my inability to communicate, but my meds made it nigh-impossible to understand what I was feeling, and when I did, expressing myself could get me institutionalized. My suffering was inevitable but always, somehow, my fault. Awesome! *disintegrates into a pile of sand*

I cannot deny I was a girl like a box of matches waiting to be struck. You had no choice but to do as you did. But is it really what you ought to have done? (On this, I have no answer. I hope you have one that satisfies you.)

(that was genuine, by the by. i've spent a lot of time pondering this mess, and I still haven't found the "right" answer. I don't think there is one - though action or inaction, there is no version of this story where I don't suffer. I can only hope it was worth it. wait, hold on *adds the omelas child to my Kin List*)

Nor can I deny making my previous open letter in a small attempt to 'get back' at you - i'm not above that. lord knows i'm not innocent. but i really was trying to channel that rage into something productive. unfortunately i was doomed to fail because i didn't know what i meant. if you showed me that letter now, you'd hear a lot of "what? I don't know why I said that" "i have no idea why i would complain about something so minor" etc. You can disregard all that. This is what I was trying to say. the obsession, the trauma, the projection: all of it. So much of my obsession was talking around an issue i couldn't identify.

(meguka image) I know now

I knew I would be traumatized by this whole situation. I saw it coming and i could do nothing to stop it. But Gear was crucial to deciphering all this - in fact, suddenly thinking about her last year prompted me to really dissect my medical situation and realize i was tortured. I couldn't have done it without her. cassie & maggie, against the world.

Gear scans surprisingly well as a victim of long-term torture, actually. I don't think you meant to do that but good job!

speaking of her - i still don't think she's consistently suicidal. she's a real cockroach of a character, and I love her for it! But sometimes, i want to die and i want to live mean the same thing, because they both mean i need to get out of here. Imo, her thought processes and desires frequently contradict themselves, like mine did. and making your favs kill themselves in increasingly gruesome ways is really fun catharsis!

But please don't take this to mean I consider myself - or Gear - blameless. I love her because she's not blameless, because she's cruel for fun, because she'd rather be wicked than helpless. Like knows like. What I mean to say is, as of 2018, there is a black space between little Margret and Gear, and I saw all the signs of something very, very bad happening in that space. I know because I shared that space. what I mean to say is, teenage girls don't go out of their minds over nothing. Everything I made here is just an expression of what I heard in the narrative's silences.

and thus my biggest apprehension around revisiting the comic. knowing the author and I have such fundamentally different experiences with mental health - what if the signs of torture i picked up on weren't intended, or i completely made them up? what if, in the parts i haven't read yet, there's information that uproots my entire interpretation, or berates her for refusing mental health services that hurt me profoundly? how do you reconcile that a character so crucial to deciphering yourself may not be anything like you at all? I Don't Know. Shitpost, probably

You're welcome to share those shitposts and whatnot by the way. Creating this let me put down years of hurt, and i hope it relieves you, too. I don't need to go back on the server, or forgiveness, or anything besides understanding. consider this a peace offering. the terms are yours.

Despite writing nearly 10k words, I still probably missed something or was callous or whatever. Self-expression and self-understanding are… new to me. My apology may be understated, but please take it as I meant it, with utmost sincerity. My askbox is open, and I'm more than happy to discuss antipsych resources, KB, What The Hell Is Wrong With Gear, artistic choices made in this comic, etc. I'm even down to reconnect on discord! Maybe. Uh, I'm conflicted. I reserve my right to not want to talk, be slow in responding, and so on, as should you. we've no obligations and all the time in the world. Let neither of us hurt ourselves in meeting because it's the "right" thing to do. I'm not blaming anyone or trying to start drama. If it would give you the most peace of mind to completely ignore this, please do so.

or, translated: as of right now, I'm not ready for any information about KB after steffi reunites with her dad, or difficult emotional reunions. I would really like to hear from everyone, and I'd appreciate casual well-wishes. I don't want things to be the same, I want them to be peaceful. Baby steps, cassie, baby steps. (very large and fearful prey animal tries not to run into oncoming traffic)

mostly, making this was for me. Perhaps I've said too much, but after spending so long unable to express myself freely, my art was cathartic and necessary. I'm no one's martyr or innocent, I'm just a torture victim trying to make sense of it all. I want to articulate some thoughts I couldn't figure out how to say before and make some silly things that make people laugh. Most of all, I'm happy in ways I never thought I could be, and I would like to share that joy with old acquaintances and other fans of a story I adored.

What I mean to say is: The train's about to leave the station, and there's an empty seat beside me. The train will still leave whether or not you board; but I would be honored not to go it alone!

Thank you to everyone who stuck by me even after the drama. Ethel, Felipe, Chris - even though we've fallen out of contact, your kindness and patience meant more than i can say. special thank you to @stars-in-a-jam-jar, the first person i confessed everything to after the smoke cleared, and someone i consider myself close with no matter how long we fall out of contact. My close online friends, @shafpanda, @theoandmoon, @dvanaestmrva, my honorary cousin @my-name-is-jimmy, and everyone else I confided in about my torture. and, of course, my partners @transloo and @teenyjellyfishy, and my little sibling, @aroacenezhaanddainsleif, the three people I love most in the world. Thank you, all. it is an honor to love you, and be loved by you.

[capnmachete]

Augusnippets 2024 Path of Whumperless Whump Day 30: Self-Harm/Addiction/Overdose

Title: The Beach Fandom: Peaky Blinders Characters: Alfie Solomons; brief mentions of Tommy, Ollie, Edna and Cyril CW: Blood and gore, suicidal ideation, and attempted self-harm Summary: The immediate aftermath of the shootout at Margate. Also here on AO3.

THE BEACH After the gunshot on the beach at Margate, Alfie Solomons woke up in stages. For a while -- maybe minutes, maybe hours -- he lay insensate in the sand in a puddle of gore, Cyril snuffling around him. It was the incoming tide that woke him the first time. The icy, lapping surf drenched his clothes; the salt water burned like fire on livid raw flesh. He rose to one knee -- shaky, disoriented, half-blind and choking on his own blood, pawing numbly at his face. And fell again a moment later -- weak from blood loss, hammered back into unconsciousness by the pain that roared through him like a freight train. A merciful black curtain dropped, cutting off the howl that surged up his throat. The second time he woke, it was to the sound of screams. Someone else's screams this time, not his own. A brace of young ladies visiting Margate had come to the seaside with their governess – out for a late afternoon stroll, parasols in hand, looking for sand dollars and seashells.  They found, instead, a nightmare: a soggy, bloody, mostly-dead man, crusted with wet grit, crawling and clawing his way along the beach.  A man with only half a face, the other half a mangled hash of bone and blood and torn flesh. The unfortunate girls had encountered Alfie a good twenty yards up from the tideline. He had blacked out with merciful speed after his first awakening. But the brute animal of his body had kept going -- dragging him out of the water and across the sand, churning dumbly along like a motorcar with a driver asleep at the wheel. The girls' panicked shrieks had dragged him back into hazy wakefulness. The governess -- a former nurse in the war -- had first checked to see if he was alive or dead, and then gathered her frightened charges close like a mother hen. And, luckily (or unluckily, depending on who one asked, and when), had gone to get help, the only reason for Alfie's continued existence in Margate, or anywhere else. Ollie and Edna and a few others have asked Alfie, since then, what exactly he was doing, crawling around on the beach on all fours, bloody and sand-caked and barely conscious. Where he was going. “Fuck if I know, mate,” is his usual answer.  “I was in shock, yeah?  Don’t remember a thing.” If he’s feeling particularly pious that day, he might finish with allelu Adonai, and knock on the wooden table.   Once in awhile, if the mood strikes him, he’ll claim instead that he knew he was gravely injured and maybe dying, and was trying to find help.  Or that he was mindlessly going after Thomas, bent on exacting revenge, even in extremis.

It’s all shtuyot, of course.  Alfie Solomons remembers.  He knows exactly what he was doing that day: feeling his way across the sand, trying like hell to find his dropped revolver, so he could finish the job Tommy Shelby had botched. And he'd spent the first months of his recovery wishing fervently that he'd found it. And succeeded. Of course, that was mostly before – before the letters, before the dreams, before the surprise visitor.  Before the crossing; before Hell Hill, before everything that came afterwards.  Before life started over, allelu Adonai. ___ allelu Adonai: thank God shtuyot: nonsense

[pastaxandria]

I'm Sending A Raven: Chapter 5/5 🌧️

The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its shelves: Chapter 4 of I'm Sending A Raven.

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

Matt knew what you were. He’d seen you for the rabid monster, the hound, the worthless subject that you were. That was why you were alone, why he hated you, why they all hated you, why they’d all sentenced you to die here—Ciro and Matt and Frank and Karen and Thompson, all of them capable of freeing you only to leave you to rot, a loathed, forgotten thing lost in the dark and gathering dust. They’d all seen. This was what you were. What you’d always been. What you always would be. Fine. If they thought you a monster… you’d be one.

Wordcount: 12.5k

Warnings for this chapter: suicidal ideation, dehumanization, disassociation, emaciation due to captivity, hallucinations, blood, canon-typical gore and violence, murder of bad people, guns, knives, references to torture, references to brainwashing, references to human experimentation

Read me on AO3 where I'm about to crush your heart but I'll give it a small bandaid when I'm done

Sad Matt gif cause we're gonna go through some shit

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

TMC Home Sweet Home AU: Barotrauma

Adam Murray and Jonah Marshall take a call about a possible cat spirit inhabiting a Home in Mandela. However, Adam begins to become...strangely fascinated with the House itself.

TW: Blood/gore/body horror, toxic friendships, manipulation, mild drug use, possession, violence.

Notes: HSH VOLUME 2!!! This one is. longer than the prologue, being close to 15′400 words long, so. a long read. However, I believe that it’s worth the read, so. hope you enjoy!

@anotherr-side

January 12th, 2009. 2 PM

 Adam was already tired of driving.

He stared forward at the frosty road in front of him, his blue eyes blank and devoid of emotion. An hour-long drive between their base in Bythorne has never felt so long, yet with every second Adam could feel his soul dying from boredom. The music on the radio only helped somewhat at making the drive less tedious, though only barely. He recognized most of the songs as ones he’s heard before, with a few of them feeling like cheese graters being used on his ears due to how many times they’ve played on the radio. Despite wanting to shut the radio off however, Adam hated the silence more. He’d take shitty, overused music over pure, all-encompassing silence any time.

Adam wore a black hoodie over his thin body, its hood pulled up over his head and partially covering his pale brown, curly hair. Three bold yellow letters, “BPS”, were on the left side of his chest, along as across his back. His cold, pale hands grasped onto the steering wheel, the cool air of winter making him wish he remembered to bring his gloves instead of leaving them on the dresser. He had a silver lip ring, along with black chain-link earrings, partially covered by his hood. Along with the missing gloves, Adam began to wish he wore normal jeans, instead of the ripped jeans he normally wore. He glanced towards Jonah, who was sleeping in the passenger seat, seeing he had thought ahead, wearing both a white sweatshirt and a black leather jacket to keep him warm.

Jonah was leaned against the window with his arms crossed in front of him, snoring quietly as faint, muffled music came from the Walkman’s headphones over his ears. His silver hair had its original black roots visible, it being pressed down by his headphones. He had tanned skin, his cheeks becoming red from the cold air. He had a silver nose ring, along with more earrings that were covered by the headphones. He wore simple jeans and red high-top shoes over his thin legs, which were crossed in front of him. He looked pretty deep in sleep, though at least it meant he wouldn’t bother Adam with dull jokes and “totally real” stories.

Adam sighed deeply, staring forward and through the windshield, seeing the white snow on the sides of the roads and the grey road. He was beginning to think of how tired he was of seeing nothing but snow-covered fields and trees until he saw something on the side of the road. It was a frost covered green sign, it’s lettering visible enough to read “Welcome to Mandela Cty. WI!”

“Fucking finally…” Adam muttered under his breath. He turned towards Jonah for a second before focusing back on the road, all before smacking Jonah’s arm with the back of his hand. “Wake up, Jackass, we’re here.”

Jonah was startled awake, sliding his headphones off before staring at Adam with a half-awake stare, all before rubbing his eyes. “Dude…how long was I out?”

“Since we left.”

“Oh. Cool.” Jonah stretched his arms, sighing as he looked outside his window. “So…how much longer ‘till we get there?”

“Less than 20 minutes, probably.” Adam said. “By the way…you got money for gas?”

“…huh?”

“We’re running low on gas, do you have money?” Adam asked again with a tinge of impatience.

Jonah remained silent.

“…Jonah.”

“Okay fine, fuck.” Jonah groaned, pulling out a few dollar bills from his pants pocket. “I got 15 bucks.”

“15?” Adam questioned. “You literally only have 15 on you?”

“Yeah.”

“For fucks sake.” Adam stated. “You were supposed to save that.”

“Hey, get off my back, why does it even matter?” Jonah responded.

“Let me guess, you spent the rest on fucking weed didn’t you.” Adam stated.

Jonah didn’t respond, looking away for a second.

“…You did?!” Adam questioned.

“…You…want any?” Jonah grabbed the backpack sitting by his foot, unzipping it slightly.

Adam responded with a tired, exasperated sigh. “Jonah I swear to God, I’m going to murder you one day.”

“Look man, shit’s stressful at times.” Jonah defended.

“If we get pulled over, I’m going to throw you under a bus.”

“Look man, since when did you care anyway?” Jonah asked. “It’s my money.”

“Yeah, sure, your money. Money that was supposed to go to the group, but you took for yourself.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Jonah stated, an air of frustration coming from him as he stared at Adam.

“Whatever dude, just…we’ll figure that shit out after this, okay?”

Jonah sighed, looking out of the window as they drove into town. “…Alrighty.”

Adam felt his mood lighten when they finally made it to town, pulling over into the first gas station they saw. Adam parked next to one of the gas pumps, seeing Jonah immediately hop out of the van, Adam lagging behind before exiting the vehicle too. He stretched his thin and lanky arms and legs before walking around the car to see Jonah leaning against the side of the van, partially covering the lazily written “BPS” logo spray-painted in black on the white metal. “Hey…how much money…do you really need for gas?” Jonah asked as Adam took out some of his money, along with the 15 dollars Jonah gave him. Adam simply looked back at him with a confused gaze.

“Probably…twenty? Twenty-five?” He said, looking down at the cash in his hands, adding up to around 35 dollars.

“So why’d you need my money?”

“I’m not letting you skimp out on paying for gas again.”

“Hm.” Jonah looked away, shuddering slightly due to the cold. He glanced back at Adam, seeing that he was unfazed by the chill, frosty air, even though he was wearing less. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Yeah, it’s fucking freezing.” Adam stated, brushing past Jonah to start refueling the van.

“…You don’t act like it.”

“What, you want me to shake or something?” Adam forced a shudder. “It doesn’t bother me as much, what else do you want me to say?”

Jonah looked towards the convenience store next to the fuel pumps, seeing that it was open before looking at Adam. “You mind giving me back ten bucks?”

“…For…?”

“Look, if we’re staying for three days, we better get some snacks.” Jonah held out his hand. “Ten bucks and I’ll get us some chips.”

Adam stared at his hand before rolling his eyes, reluctantly slapping the rest of the money in his hand onto Jonah’s. “I swear dude, don’t buy anything stupid. Snacks, and that’s it.”

“Fine, fuck.” Jonah said as he backed away before turning to walk to the store. “Jeez…”

Adam stared at the gas pump in his hand, waiting until it was done before returning it to its base and grabbing his receipt, promptly crumpling it into a ball and throwing it to the side. He sighed, leaning against the passenger side door before crossing his arms in front of him. He leaned his head back, the back of his skull hitting the window with a soft thunk before he closed his eyes. He felt the wind blowing across his pale face, snowflakes getting stuck in his hair as he stood still, waiting for Jonah to return with the snacks.

“Hey, Adam.”

“Hmm?” Adam opened his eyes, looking to his right where he heard Jonah’s voice, expecting him to be back to either ask him for something, or bother him for more money. He blinked a few times, confused at the sight of nothing but a snow-covered parking lot and the store. He furrowed his brows, turning to his left only to see more of the same, seeing the road where the scarce car would pass by. He stared on in a concerned confusion, feeling as if someone was watching him even though no one was there, even causing the hair on his neck to stand on edge. He stared forward, only to see something in his peripheral vision, his eyes widening slightly. He could see half of a head peeking out from the back of the van, causing him to snap his attention towards his right again, stepping away as he saw nothing there. He stared at it, his dull blue eyes not blinking once until he heard something again.

“Hey, Adam.”

He turned towards the store, seeing Jonah carrying a bag of various snacks in his arms. “…Adam?”

“Hey…” Adam muttered.

“You alright, dude?” Jonah asked as he slid the van’s side door open, throwing in the bag of food. “You look kinda—”

“I’m fine.” Adam said, avoiding eye contact before turning around to walk around the van. “Let’s get going. We have a job to do.”

Adam remained silent as he drove through town, remembering the turns he was supposed to make, and the address the caller stated as he traversed through Mandela. Jonah was also strangely silent; holding his head up with his hand as he boredly stared out his window as he listened to the music from his headphones. Adam glanced at the street sign on one of the corners of the intersection he found himself in: Wisteria Avenue. Adam pulled over to the side of the road, parking right outside of the neighborhood, seeing that it was gated off and locked with a chain. Jonah stared at it before looking back towards Adam. “…So?”

“Well, the house is in there I’m pretty sure.” Adam stated. “It’s the same street that lady told us to go to.”

“Well, do…we have bolt cutters?” Jonah asked.

“I think we do, in the back.” Adam unbuckled his seat belt, opening his door and opening the side door. He looked around the messy van, pushing over bags and camera equipment before grabbing the pair of bolt cutters that was buried under it all. As Adam approached the gate to break the lock, Jonah remained in the van, listening as the song playing from his old Walkman began to fade out. The next song was going to be an old 90’s pop song; he knew that for certain. He had listened to that tape for years, ever since he bought it when he was a teen. However, when it began playing, it didn’t start with plucky synths or drums. It began with an electric guitar, the audio quality of which being oddly worse than the rest of the songs on the cassette.

Jonah’s brows furrowed as he listened closely, not even paying attention to Adam’s struggles with the bolt cutter as he heard the 80’s rock song playing on his headphones. The guitar and drums continued before the lyrics began.

“Like the wind…”

He couldn’t make out the rest, it sounding vaguely like the singer was speaking English, yet…not quite right. He never even heard of the song before, knowing it was never in any of his cassettes. Was he remembering it wrong? Did he accidentally skip this song every time he’s listened to this cassette? Why couldn’t he make out the lyrics? It sounded like a song his mind came up with to be background music in a dream of his, only barely remembering it when he woke up, yet there he was, listening to it clear as day. His confusion grew until Adam opened the driver’s side door, entering the van before tossing the bolt cutter into the back of the van. Adam looked towards Jonah, appearing confused before he started speaking.

“What’s up with you?” He asked, noticing Jonah’s strange expression.

“Uh…” Jonah took off his headphones, handing them over to Adam. “You know this song?”

Adam placed the headphones over his ears, listening intently for a few moments before sighing. “Some…generic 80’s song?” He said. “…It’s over anyway; it just went to the next song.”

“N-No, like…I’ve never had that song on this tape.” Jonah said as Adam returned the headphones.

“So?”

“So…don’t you think that’s weird?”

“I don’t know dude.” Adam said. “The gates open so…guess we should get going.”

The entire neighborhood was completely barren as they slowly drove down the cracked road, the eerie silence making Jonah’s hair stand on end. It felt as though it was soulless, devoid of all life, with every single house on the street being dark and dead, long since abandoned. Jonah wanted to start small talk, asking Adam about how he felt about everything, though his throat felt tight for a reason he didn’t know. He looked down at the Walkman and the headphones with it that sat on his lap, quietly shoving them into his backpack.

“I’m surprised.” Adam stated. “Normally you’d be chickening out by now.”

“…I…no, I’m not a coward.” Jonah responded. “Besides…nothing’s even happened yet.”

Adam scoffed slightly. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

Jonah looked at Adam, him only returning a passing glance. “No.” Jonah lied. “I’m not, actually.”

“Sure.” Adam looked down the road before glancing back at Jonah. “334, right?”

“Huh?”

“The house number.”

“Oh…yeah, I…think so.”

“Then…” Adam stopped the vehicle on the side of the road. “We’re here.”

They pulled into the driveway, the very sight of the house making a pit form in their stomachs. It was an average looking home, albeit empty, having a garage with red outer walls, a large window on the right side of the house leading into the living room, surrounded by beige bricks, and a black roof. It only had one floor, and looked like a medium-sized home. Cracks formed across small parts of the driveway, and thin roots from plants were scaling less than halfway up some of the outer walls, reaching towards the living room window. It looked painfully normal, so why did it feel so wrong?

Either way, Jonah hoped the three days would go by quickly.

 Day One, 2:45 PM

 Adam slid open the van’s side door, rummaging through their gear before grabbing three cameras, lightly tossing them to Jonah, who nearly dropped one of them as soon as they were all in his arms. “Put those around the house.” Adam stated. “I can set up the computer out here so we can get a live feed.”

Jonah glanced towards the house, staring at it before looking back at Adam, who was crawling into the back of the van with a laptop in hand. “Dude…can…you go do this?” Jonah asked sheepishly.

Adam glared at him with tired eyes.

“You serious?”

“Dude, come on, you’ll know where to put them—”

“I can tell you over the radio.” Adam stated. “Don’t be such a baby; I got a good feeling about this place.”

“I-I just don’t kn—”

“FINE.” Adam hopped out of the van before grabbing the cameras out of Jonah’s arms, all before grasping a bag with the cameras’ tripods in them. “I’ll go do it. You set up the computer.”

Jonah remained in stunned silence as Adam approached the house, all before Jonah sighed deeply and hesitantly sat on the edge of the van’s floor, grabbing the laptop as he watched Adam disappear behind the front door. He pulled his foot up to rest on his opposite knee, turning on his laptop before letting out a breath. “‘Don’t be such a baby’ he says.” Jonah mocked under his breath. “Acting like I’m the stupid one here.” He crossed his arms, his breath clouding up in the cold air in front of him. He stared at the laptop’s screen, waiting for the cameras to connect.

The first thing Adam noticed when he walked into the House was the silence. It felt eerie, yet serene, the calm yet stagnant air making Adam feel happy that he was no longer in the cold. He turned to his right, seeing the living room, with the couch rested against the wall, with a coffee table and an old analog television resting upon it. Adam couldn’t help but feel strange seeing such a device, considering they were banned when he was little. However, after hearing faint clacking and ticking from the opposite wall, he forgot how strange it was to see the Television, his attention now focusing on the grandfather clock standing tall across from it.

It nearly touched the already decently tall ceiling, making Adam guess that it was around nine feet tall from its clawed base to the wooden wings right above its clock face. Its golden pendulum swayed from behind the glass, and its black hands twitched as it kept with the time. It looked old as hell; something a grandpa would have in his house. Adam stared at the clock face with bored eyes, all before kneeling on the carpeted ground, placing his bag of tripods and the cameras onto the floor in front of him.

He found himself whistling as he attached the cameras to the tripods; a song he wasn’t familiar with, figuring his mind was simply making it up to fill the odd silence within the Home. He set up the first camera, flicking it on as he pointed it towards the living room. Jonah saw the camera appear in the feed as Adam did so, giving it a passing glance as he dug through his backpack, grabbing a lighter that was buried in the gear as he leaned against the inner wall of the van. Adam saw the light gleam from the small light of the camera, standing up and grabbing the other cameras off of the ground as he walked out of the living room, the ticking of the clock continuing as he passed through the house.

He found himself in the kitchen, seeing the floor’s tiles were stained, with a substance Adam wasn’t able to identify. The counters appeared decently clean however, with everything seemingly untouched, yet still appearing to be used at the same time. It was as if the family that used to live there never left. It felt so familiar, as if he had been there before despite never seeing the house in his life. He knew it wasn’t anywhere close to how he vaguely remembered his own house looking from his foggy childhood, yet somehow it felt just as Homey. After shaking off the thought, Adam pushed forward, realizing he still had more to look at in the old House.

Adam stared at the back hallway in front of him, seeing one door to the right and one dead ahead; it felt oddly short for a hallway, especially considering that there seemed to be more room than needed for it. He looked up at the left wall, seeing a strange dark splotch near the top corner, assuming it to be water damage before he placed a camera down at the entrance of the hallway, pointing it towards the one door to the right. He looked through the doorway, seeing that it was a bedroom of some kind, with a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room and a closet to the right of it. Nothing of interest so far. Not even a sign of the cat they came there for aside from the empty pet bed he saw next to the clock. What a great waste of time.

Adam passed through the House with an annoyed expression, his jaw clenched as he thought of how stupid it was that he was setting up cameras for an empty House, just in case he saw a ghost cat. Was the lady on the phone a compete nutcase? As he thought to himself he glanced to the other side of the living room, eyes widening slightly. There was a door next to the hallway leading to the kitchen, with an upright piano right beside it, along with a few bookshelves. The door however caught Adam’s attention, despite it looking like every other white, boring door in the House. He placed the final camera, pointing it towards the door before he walked towards it.

He placed a hand on the doorknob, attempting to open it to no avail; locked. The metal was strangely warm, despite the air being cool within the room. It smelled strangely sour near the door as well, making Adam back away and shake his head, taking one glance back at the clock before turning towards the front door.

Something hit his head.

Adam felt something be dropped onto his head before falling in his peripheral vision, landing on the carpet with a soft thud. Adam placed his hand on his hood-covered head before looking down to see what had fell, assuming it to be a piece of the ceiling from the age of the building. However, instead he saw a rusted metal key, sticking out from the shaggy carpet. Adam crouched down, lightly grabbing it with a few of his fingers. He stared at it, turning it around in his hand. Its edges appeared to have been dulled, and whatever was written on it has long since worn away. Adam stood up, staring at the strangely misshapen key as a face peered at him halfway from the hallway behind him. A key? Why would a key be stuck in the roof? He shoved it into his hoodie pocket, deciding to grab his camera from the van and head back in; Jonah better have set the camera system up, otherwise he was getting his ass kicked.

 When he made his way outside, Adam was greeted with smoke coming out of the back of the van, sighing when he approached it. He found the source of the smoke; Jonah smoking a joint with the laptop beside him. “You got it working?” Adam asked, trying to ignore the smell.

“Uh, yeah, look.” Jonah pushed the computer towards Adam as he crawled into the van, sitting down as he stared at the camera feeds in front of him.

“Okay, good. You are making sure it’s recording, right?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jonah coughed. “Should be all ready to go.”

Adam nodded before turning around grabbing the camera he saw peeking out from underneath their makeshift bedding. “I’m gonna go back in and get some pics, alright?” Adam stated. “Keep an eye on the cameras, and…” He stared at Jonah, who was coughing smoke out. “…Don’t get high out of your mind alright? We need to be focused for this shit.”

“Aye aye, shitface.”

Adam didn’t respond with anything more than an eye roll as he crawled out of the van, shutting the door behind him.

Adam snapped a photo of the back hallway, more specifically the large, off-colored blotch in the wallpaper. He looked at the photo on the camera’s screen before turning towards the door in front of him. He stared at the closed door before reaching towards the door knob, though once again, it didn’t budge. In fact, it didn’t even move a millimeter, as if it and the door it was attached to was one complete thing. He sighed in disappointment before grabbing the radio attached to his belt before turning it on. “Another locked door.” He stated.

“…Really?” Jonah asked, his voice partially cloaked by the static of the radio. “Couldn’t you just. Kick it down or something?”

“I’m not gonna bust down a random lady’s door.” Adam stated.

“Alright. Your loss then.”

Adam turned around, walking out of the hallway and back through the House, finding himself in the living room once again. He looked at his camera, cycling through the multiple photos of the house he took before looking towards the piano in the corner, holding the camera up to his eye, lining the picture up, and taking a picture.

Click.

GONG.

GONG.

GONG.

GONG.

The sound of the Clock’s bells made Adam swing around in shock to look at it, his eyes staring at it before he let out his breath. “It’s four already?” He asked himself when he saw the time. “Ugh.” Adam looked at the photo of the piano, letting out an annoyed groan when he saw that it was blurry from the sudden motion. He turned towards the piano once again, though when he held up the camera, he paused. He stood still as he slowly lowered the camera, turning back towards the grandfather clock as he heard its quiet ticks. He glanced at the digital camera in his hands before pointing it towards the clock.

Click.

 11:23 PM

That night, Adam laid across the floor of the van, with a thin layer of blankets and a pillow being the only padding between him and the cold metal. He stared up at the roof of the van, the orange light from above shining down on him. He smoked a cigarette as he listened to Jonah laugh at his own jokes and stories, leaning back in the passenger side seat with his legs propped up on the dashboard. As he spoke the retelling of a story he overheard, he began speaking in a more sinister tone, as if he was telling a campfire story.

“Like…it’s so hard to remember but I’m pretty sure after that, the dude just…up and disappeared.” Jonah said. “Gone like the wind. Who knows, maybe he’s still out there somewhere, ready to kill again…”

“You are…the worst storyteller…ever.” Adam stated. “That is not at all what happened, and you know it.”

“Well, how did it go then, genius?” Jonah asked. “The dude went crazy, murdered this other dude then fucking vanished. Sounds like some ghost story people tell their kids to make them not go into the woods at night.”

“Yeah, but there’s gotta be more to it than that, right?” Adam said, taking a hit from his cigarette. “People don’t just…go insane randomly.”

“Yeah but…that guy did.” Jonah smiled lightheartedly, despite the unease in his eyes when he looked back at Adam.

“Mhmm. You can think that.” Adam put out his cigarette on the metal wall of the van before resting his hands on his stomach.

Jonah stared at the house in front of him, it barely visible through the nightly darkness and the snow gathering on the windshield. He felt a pit in his gut as he stared at the front door, all before looking through the rearview mirror, towards Adam. “…Wasn’t…this house the one that dude went insane in?” Jonah asked pensively. “Or…one like it? What if that’s the reason this neighborhood was closed off?”

“You aren’t seriously scared of some ghost story, are you?” Adam smirked. “It’s an empty house, bro. I looked through every part I could; there was nothing there.”

“Yeah…I…guess.”

There was silence for a moment, the quiet only making the pressure in Jonah’s chest all the more noticeable. He leaned back in his seat, brows furrowing as he rubbed the lapel of his leather jacket.

“Why did you even take this job?”

Jonah glanced at the rearview mirror, seeing that Adam was sitting up, pushing away the empty pizza box that was next to him. He looked directly at Jonah through the mirror, his expression mostly blank, yet with an air of annoyance.

“I…why do you ask?” Jonah questioned.

“You’ve been bitching and whining since we got here.” Adam stated. “If you’re so scared of ghosts, then why did you decide to join a ghost hunting group?”

Jonah remained silent, the question hanging in the air like a foul stench.

“At the very least, you could take this shit seriously, you know—”

“I do.”

Adam’s eyes widened ever so slightly before turning into a skeptical glare. “Right. So your definition of ‘taking things seriously’ is sitting in the van, smoking weed, and acting like a complete wuss?” Adam questioned. “I’ve been doing all the work while you goof off.”

“Look man, I just…I don’t like this shit.” Jonah stated, looking towards the house. “Something just does…not feel right here. Like. I looked at the footage and…despite nothing being super wrong, it just feels…off. Weird.”

“Look, we’re only gonna be here for three days, alright?” Adam stated. “Then, we’re out of here and we never have to look for a stupid ghost cat ever again. Besides, tomorrow, the real shit’s gonna happen.”

“…I don’t…Adam.” Jonah rubbed his shoulders. “I don’t wanna tell you what to do but…don’t you think you should be more…careful?”

Adam remained silent, his hard glare slightly waning.

“You just…run in as if nothings…wrong.” Jonah choked out, as if he was scared to say what he was trying to say. “You’ve acted so…shitty the whole trip, and now you’re just…ignoring the clearly weird feeling about this place?”

“Look, it’s not my fault that you refuse to do your job.” Adam stated. “I’m just trying to do mine.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, your wuss of a friend has a point?” Jonah replied. “…I don’t like this place…and something tells me even you feel that something’s up here, but you refuse to even acknowledge it.”

“Yeah. I do.” Adam said. “But that’s what makes this more interesting. Who knows what’s going on with this place?”

Jonah stared at his feet before he sighed. “Could you at least…be…careful?” Jonah said quietly. “I’m…scared…for you.”

Adam’s brows furrowed, though his hard gaze felt less uncaring. “…why?”

“…You know…I just…” Jonah paused. “Don’t want you to get yourself killed for nothing.”

“I…I won’t.” Adam said softly. “Look, hey, if it makes you feel better, I’ll bring in my camcorder tomorrow, and film everything. That way you know exactly what’s going on and how there’s literally nothing in there.”

Jonah remained silent before turning around, seeing Adam in the eye instead of through the mirror. “Just…make this trip quick.” Jonah said.

“I will.” Adam said. “I’ll look for the stupid cat tomorrow, and if nothing happens we’ll…just fucking leave. If you so insist.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” Adam stated with a partial eye-roll. “Now go to sleep, we have shit to do tomorrow.”

“Yeah…I’ll…try.” Jonah sighed as Adam laid back down, all before he flipped the light off.

 ??:??

Adam awoke to the sound of static.

He was lying on his side on the cold metal floor of the van, his lukewarm breath clouding the freezing air in front of his face as he looked around, his eyes gleaming in the dark. He sat up, noticing a faint blue light shining through the windshield. He groggily looked through the glass, brows furrowing when he saw the light in the distance. Where the driveway and garage would have been was instead a long hallway, doors lining both of the walls. It was completely dark, aside from the pale blue light coming from down the hall.

Adam silently and carefully slid open the side door, stepping onto the wooden floor before stumbling in front of the van, looking back to see that it was halfway through the wall behind it, connected by thin tendrils that morphed with the wallpaper behind it. His shadow covered most of it, towering over it and flickering with the static behind him. Adam turned towards the light, eyes fixed on what the light came from: an old analog television. It was playing static, the sound of which filling the hallway, along with the sound of faint ticking in the distance. Adam didn’t call for help, or say anything at all, instead inching closer to the television as his thin fingers twitched by his side.

He stared at the television with wide eyes, pupils contracting from the light. His breathing was shallow, barely audible over the static. He looked forward at the area around the television, seeing that it was made of flesh, fusing with the wallpaper and wooden flooring, and making the ground wet and soft around it. He stared at it, lightly running his hand down the wall and pulling it back to see the mucus left on his fingers.

He paused when he heard something from the hall behind him, turning towards the darkness that seemed to stretch on forever as he listened past the increasingly loud ticking and static in his ears. Screaming; it sounded like someone was yelling something he couldn’t make out. The voice appeared reversed and faint, like a record playing the wrong way.  It sounded half furious, half pained, though as much as he tried, Adam couldn’t make out any words. However, he could finally find his own.

“Hello?”

The static stopped.

His voice echoed back at him as the faint screaming faded away. Adam stared into the void, as if he was awaiting something. Silence was all that greeted him, the faint ticking he heard in the distance feeling like pin pricks in his ears. He swallowed hard, taking a step forward before stopping, seeing something in the dark; two white dots. Eyes, along with the faint outline of a featureless face, staring back at him. Adam and the figure he could barely make out in the distance remained silent until it’s choked, unused voice began to speak.

“Who are you?”

 Adam awoke in a cold sweat, face down on something that was not the floor of the van he fell asleep in. His eyes flicked open, seeing that he was on top of concrete, looking up to see the front door of the House, with his arm laying right in front of it. He felt snow on his back, legs, and head, as if he had been there for a while, unmoving. He stood up, brushing the white snow off of his black hoodie as he stared at the door with a bewildered expression that soon became blank. Something finally happened. He needed to tell Jonah.

 Day Two, 10:15 AM

 “And you don’t think that’s…weird?”

Jonah rustled the bag of chips in his hand as he stared at Adam, who was staring at the camcorder in his hands as he fiddled with it.

“Yeah, I do.” Adam stated. “That’s what makes it interesting. I’ve never sleepwalked, yet…I think something here made me do it.”

“…How would you…be able to tell?” Jonah asked as he put a chip in his mouth. “I mean…could’ve just been a random thing that happened.”

“Yeah, but…dude, I never remember my dreams.” Adam had a faint smile on his face as he looked at Jonah, placing his camcorder into his black backpack. “But…it felt so real. There’s something up with this place, I know it.”

Jonah paused, worriedly staring at Adam before sighing. “That’s…the problem.” He muttered under his breath.

“Look, I’ll be back in like…an hour or so.” Adam said as he slid the side door open. “Keep an eye on the cameras, alright?”

“…Yeah.” Jonah glanced away. “Yeah I will.”

Adam’s smirk faded slightly when he saw Jonah staring blankly at nothing in particular, crawling out of the van before closing the door. Adam stared at the frost-covered driveway before sighing and holding his head up and walking towards the front door, throwing his backpack over his shoulder with a huff.

He swung open the front door, looking around the now familiar living room before closing the door behind him. The clock ticked quietly, its pendulum swinging from behind the glass, the rest of the living room and Adam walking around the home reflecting off of it. Adam’s boots pressed down the shaggy carpet as he walked around, all as he rummaged through his backpack, grabbing the camcorder and turning it on.

Jonah sat down in the back of the van, grabbing the old laptop before turning it on. He was greeted to the camera feed still on, seeing Adam wandering the living room from one of the cameras before picking up his radio. “Adam, you hear me?”

Adam’s radio sounded from his belt, all before he removed it and responded. “Loud and clear. You see me?” Adam turned towards the tripod facing him.

“Yep. Certainly can.” Jonah said as he watched Adam walk closer to the camera and kneel down in front of it to look into the lens. “You’re…as ugly as ever.”

“Hey, well fuck you too, dude.” Adam flipped the camera off briefly with a slight scoff. Adam stood up, turning back towards the living room, his eyes grazing over the clock before he turned towards the rest of the house.

Jonah looked towards the cameras, seeing the living room: boring, with an old ass clock, analog TV and some furniture. A locked door: a weird camera angle, considering it was most likely nothing but a closet or something. And the finally, the back hallway: a boring bedroom and another locked door. Jonah wondered what was going through Adam’s head to make him choose those of all places to place the cameras, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Besides, best case scenario, Adam was just going to get bored and leave. Jonah sighed, hoping that it would be the scenario that played out.

Adam walked into the kitchen, his camera filming the dusty counters and dining room table. Or, at least he remembered it being dusty and unused. When he stared at the counters, he noticed, that they were…pristine. The counter was organized, with everything on top of it being neatly placed. The dining room table had a small candle holder in the middle of it, along with small table dressing around it. It was as if someone was preparing for a fancy dinner, for a house party perhaps. Adam held the radio up to his mouth as he filmed, all before speaking. “Hey, Jonah, the kitchen’s clean.”

“…Yeah? What do you mean?” Jonah asked.

“Like…it’s clean, as if someone just deep cleaned the place.” Adam elaborated. “…Smells…like…soap.”

Jonah remained silent, brows furrowing as he swallowed a lump in his throat. “…Y-You don’t think…maybe the woman cleaned like…right before we got here?”

“It was covered in dust when I was in here yesterday.”

Jonah felt a brief sinking in his chest. “…Alright…just…be careful, alright?”

“I will.” Adam lowered the radio, his own brows furrowed as he stared at nothing in particular.

Jonah stared at the camera feeds, leaning back until his head lightly hit the side of the van. The pressure in his chest was ever present, a looming dread creeping into his mind. He glanced to the side, seeing his own backpack, searching through it before grabbing a small paper bag, along with rolling paper as he waited for his radio to sound again. Maybe if he smoked for a second, he would relax enough to focus; after all, isn’t that what Adam wanted him to do? As he looked away to roll another joint, the camera feed flickered slightly, the back hallway camera shutting off as he remained oblivious.

Adam walked around filming as he got a grasp of the layout within the House. He wandered in and out of rooms and halls, filming everything that even remotely piqued his interest. He remained silent, sighing slightly when he found himself back in the living room despite swearing he was just in one of the bedrooms. He must’ve remembered it wrong, he thought. He turned towards a door to his right, seeing the camera pointed towards it. He stared at it for a moment before reaching towards the door handle. It was the same; somewhat warm, and locked, however, he couldn’t help but scrunch his nose at a faint sour smell coming from it. He shook his head in disappointment before holding up his radio.

“Jonah, I’ve got nothing, you see anything on the cams?”

Jonah coughed, choking on his own saliva and the smoke from his joint. “U-uh, no, nothing’s…out of the ordinary.” Jonah stated, not even looking at the cameras. “Now can we leave? It’s cold out here.”

Adam let out a deep, frustrated groan. “Fine. Fuck.”

Jonah smiled. “Alright, now let’s get some pizza or something, I’m starving.”

“We just had…whatever, sure.” Adam shook his head, lowering his radio with a look of disappointment plastered on his face. Nothing. Fucking great.

Jonah placed his radio onto the floor beside him as he looked towards the camera feed, grazing over the three cameras with a tired look in his eyes. Living room: Boring, clock, couch and TV. Locked door: still locked, and still meaningless. Back hallway bedroom: Empty hallway, and a boring…room.

It was a smaller bedroom than Jonah remembered. A twin sized bed in the corner, a messy desk right beside it with an old computer resting on top of it. The bedroom was a complete mess, the floor covered in food wrappers, games from the game console sitting in front of a CRT TV, and dirty clothes being only among the junk Jonah saw. There were posters on the walls, though he couldn’t make out exactly what was on them. However, the room felt so…familiar.

“Is…that…” Jonah mumbled to himself under his breath. He stared at the camera feed, eyes widening as his memories flooded back, making his heart sink at the realization.

That was a child’s bedroom.

That was his childhood bedroom.

Jonah shakily grabbed his radio, holding it up to his mouth as he gathered his words. “Adam, you hear me?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Adam said as he grazed his hand over the keys of the piano.

“Go to the back hallway, cam 3.”

“…The…back hallway?” Adam repeated. “Why?”

“Just go there.” Jonah stated. “S-Something…it…it changed.”

“…What?”

“Just go check, please.”

Adam couldn’t help but smile slightly as he turned his camera back on, jogging back across the house, through the kitchen, and into the back hallway. The camera sat in the middle of it, pointed towards one of the bedrooms, and as Adam approached it, he began to wonder what he’d see: an alternate? A new object of some kind? Something else entirely? Adam peeked his head into the doorway, only to have his smile smacked off of his face.

“Jonah…the fuck are you talking about?”

“…What?” Jonah asked, seeing that Adam was blocking the camera.

“It’s a fucking bedroom, dude.” Adam stated. “…Woohoo. So cool.”

Jonah remained quiet as Adam walked out of the way and out of the hall, seeing that the bedroom was back to its normal self, with the queen sized bed, nightstands and all. “Don’t fucking get my hopes up like that, dude.” Adam said as Jonah stared at the camera feed in disbelief.

“N-No, but…I saw it, I…fuck, we’ll play back the footage,” Jonah sputtered. “I know what I saw.”

“Oh yeah? And what was that, a fly?” Adam scoffed. “Or like a spider or something?”

“No, it—the entire room changed,” Jonah attempted to explain. “It was…it was my bedroom, back from when I was a kid—”

Adam glanced back at the bedroom, not noticing anything strange with it as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are…you fucking high again?”

“Adam, what?” Jonah exhaled. “Weed isn’t fucking hallucinogenic, you know this—”

“Yeah, I guess, but dude, are you sure, like…you for sure saw the room change?”

Jonah stared at the floor for a second; was he, or did he just imagine it? “I…Come back to the van, we’ll look over the footage, okay?”

“Alright, fine.” Adam sighed as he put his radio away. “If this is some sort of stunt to make us leave I’ll kick your ass.”

Jonah was standing outside of the van when Adam left the house, a look of relief on Jonah’s face when he saw him. “O-Okay, so, I know everything recorded, all we need to do is rewind—”

“I know how to do it, Jonah,” Adam stated as he brushed past Jonah. “Let me take a look at it.”

Adam crawled into the van as Jonah followed, seeing Adam placing the computer onto his lap. Jonah waited in worry as Adam began to skim through the footage, his eyes grazing across the camera feeds blankly as he did so. He didn’t believe Jonah; Jonah could feel it. Hell, even Jonah himself was beginning to doubt if he truly knew what he was talking about. He stared at Adam, watching as he lightly bit his lip and lip piercing in anticipation.

“…Y…you…uh…” Jonah hesitated. “…You don’t…believe me, do you…?”

Adam stopped, staring at the bedroom camera with the same blank expression he’s had for a few minutes. “…I don’t know…” He muttered under his breath. He glanced at the frozen footage of camera two, brows furrowing when he saw something different; the door was cracked open slightly. “…We’ll…see.”

Adam closed the laptop and pushed it to the side as he left the vehicle, all while being stared at by a concerned Jonah. “Adam? What’s going on?”

“I’m…just…gonna check something, alright?” Adam responded. “I’ll be back in a few minutes…”

With that, Adam entered the Home once again, leaving Jonah to keep himself company. Jonah stared at the camera feed, seeing that the bedroom looked normal, at least from what little he could see. Was…he…wrong? Did he really make it up? Maybe he just wanted Adam to…notice his concerns. Maybe there was nothing to worry about after all.

Adam walked into the living room in silence, noticing a new sound aside from the ticking of the clock; faint meowing. It sounded partially choked and pained, like an injured animal. Adam walked away, soon finding himself in front of the presumably locked door, the sound of meowing becoming clearer as he approached it. He stared at the camera before grabbing the tripod and placing it around a foot away before he grabbed the doorknob, now used to the strange warmth. It turned, unlocked, for the first time since he arrived at the House. He took in a deep breath, all before he swung open the door.

He was greeted to a vile sour and rotten smell. He gagged, covering his mouth and nose with his free hand as he pointed his camera towards the room with the other. It was a wooden stairway, leading down into what he presumed to be the basement of the Home. He could hear meowing, though it sounded even worse, like the cat was drowning or being choked to death. He stepped closer as he pulled the front of his hoodie over his face, trying to ignore the urge to vomit from the smell as he looked down the stairway. He could see a concrete floor at the bottom of the dark stairs, seeing that it was seemingly partially flooded, judging from the thin layer of off-color liquid that covered it. It felt hot; a higher temperature than the otherwise cold House, making him sweat just from being near it. He looked around, seeing strange, wet, pinkish colored masses, creeping up the walls and covering large portions of the floor, fusing with it.

Adam stared at the basement with widened eyes, unaware of the figure in the living room watching him. Adam stared at the masses on the basement floor, swearing he could see them pulsating. He shook his head, the sour, putrid smell becoming too much to bear before he slammed the door shut. He coughed and gagged as he stared at the door, all before grabbing the tripod and stepping away, his brows furrowing as he backed away, soon walking out of the House entirely. Jonah was right, just not in the way Adam thought. Something was going on in the house, and it was way better than a cat.

12:25 PM

 Jonah stared at the food in front of him, hearing the ambiance of the diner around him as he leaned back in his seat. Adam seemed perfectly fine; quietly eating the cheap food in front of him as if nothing was wrong. Jonah stared at him in silence, beginning to wish he didn’t order food due to the lack of appetite. What a waste of eight bucks.

“You just gonna fucking stare at me, or what.”

Jonah seemed surprised, coming back from spacing out to see Adam glaring at him. “So…you…see anything in the house?” Jonah asked.

Adam let out a deep breath. “No.” Adam stated. “Well…The basement door was open, so there’s that. It was probably just jammed last time.”

“Yeah?” Jonah said. “…And?”

“Nothing much was down there.” Adam responded. “Smelled bad. Thinking the cat died down there or something.”

Jonah stared at Adam with concern as he continued eating as if the possibility of a cat’s corpse rotting in the basement was normal. “…Ah.” Jonah looked away, letting out a forced cough as he crossed his arms. “Sooooo….we’re…gonna…leave?”

Adam paused.

“I mean…it’s not like there’s much for us to do about that.” Jonah continued. “Like, I-I’m not gonna go down there and dispose of it.”

Adam remained silent, staring at the table as he thought to himself, his eyes blank as usual. “…No.”

Jonah leaned forward slightly with furrowed brows. “…What?”

“There’s…I think we should stay the full three days at least.” Adam said quietly. “Might as well.”

“…Dude.” Jonah glanced away for a second. “If there’s nothing interesting there, then…why stay? Like, a smelly basement isn’t that remarkable.”

“No. It isn’t.” Adam agreed. “But everything else is.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Adam bit his lip lightly as he stared at nothing in particular, becoming still. “Something about her is just…fascinating.” He said. “I don’t know how to describe—”

“Her?”

Adam looked up at Jonah to see a strange look on his face. “What?”

“You said…her.”

“…No?” Adam stared quizzically at Jonah, as if he just said something insane. “Whatever dude, you need to get your ears checked.”

Jonah watched as Adam slipped his jacket back on, zipping it over his white shirt and standing up. “Look, if you’re not gonna eat, at least get it to-go. We’re not wasting money.”

“…Alright.” Jonah watched as Adam slammed money on the table before walking away to presumably get a food box or two. Jonah couldn’t help but feel a pit in his gut; was Adam normally this…soulless? Jonah remained still, looking down at the table as he rubbed his arms. One more day. That’s all.

He hoped.

 8:46 PM

 Adam leaned against the side of the van, smoking a cigarette as he stared towards the clear night sky. The stars gleamed, reflecting off of his pale eyes. He had his free hand in his hoodie pocket, leaving his other free hand cold. The side door of the van was open, the orange light from inside hitting his side as he heard Jonah moving inside, all before Jonah sat on the edge of the van’s floor, his feet hitting the driveway under them.

“You’re not changing my mind.” Adam stated, not even giving Jonah a passing glance as he blew out smoke.

“I’m not trying to.”

“Then what do you want?” Adam asked.

“Just…wanted to talk.”

Adam looked down throwing his cigarette down and stomping on it with his boot. “Alright.” Adam turned slightly towards Jonah, putting his hand in his pocket.

“…So…you’re staying in there tonight.”

“…Yeah.”

Jonah grew silent for a few moments as he shifted his weight. “I’m…worried about you.”

“Don’t be.” Adam stated. “I can handle—”

“—Yourself, yes I know.” Jonah interrupted. “But…something here…you’ve been so cold lately, and I…don’t think this job is…helping you.”

Adam stayed silent, staring at the front yard in front of him as Jonah stood up and stepped towards him, Adam not even giving him a simple glance. “You know I…care about you…right?” Jonah said quietly. “…You know I’m…your friend, right?”

Adam didn’t respond with anything more than his eyes shifting to the side slightly.

“…Remember…that one time we spray-painted the side of the police department?” Jonah smiled awkwardly. “And how…we managed to get away ‘cause the officer tripped while chasing us? Or…how we were checking out some warehouse ‘cause someone called us for it…and it turned out to be a small family of raccoons? You got your leg scratched up by the mom…right?”

Adam looked at Jonah with a side-eye, with Jonah’s smile fading as he did. “Fake calls.” Adam muttered. “It was all…fake fucking calls.” Adam looked forward and towards the sky. “But this? This…is…real. The first real thing I’ve been able to see since…forever.”

“But that…isn’t a good thing, Adam.” Jonah said. “What if…you’re in genuine danger here?”

“Again…with the fucking what ifs.” Adam’s brows furrowed, making Jonah feel his heart sink somewhat. “Don’t you think I know what I’m doing?”

“…Not saying…you don’t.” Jonah stated. “All I’m saying is that knowing what you’re doing…doesn’t mean things can’t go wrong.”

Adam turned towards Jonah with a hard glare, his eyes somewhat gleaming in the dark. “…I’m getting my stuff and going in.” Adam stated, much to the silent dismay of Jonah. “I’ll call you on the radio tomorrow and check in, okay?”

It wasn’t okay.

“Fine.” Jonah said. Adam brushed past him and dug through the gear in the van, grabbing a blanket, his backpack, and a pillow before crawling back out. Jonah watched as Adam began approaching the front door before shaking his head and following him, grasping Adam’s sleeve.

“Wait.”

Adam turned towards him with a tired, yet annoyed glare.

Jonah grew silent, glancing to the side as he gathered his thoughts. “…Just…be careful, okay?”

Adam brushed his arm off before turning back towards the front door, Jonah feeling his chest tighten when the door closed behind him. Silence fell as Jonah stared at the front door, rubbing his sleeve before lowering his head and turning back towards the van. As he walked, his shoe planted on top of one of the larger cracks in the concrete.

Thump.

Jonah flinched, pulling his foot back as he stared at the crack, which appeared to be a root of some kind upon further inspection. Strange; it felt like it pulsated under his foot. Maybe going to sleep earlier wouldn’t hurt. He was clearly tired.

Adam threw his blankets and pillow onto the dusty couch before sitting on it with a deep exhale. He stared forward at the living room in front of him, hearing the clunking and ticking of the clock in his view. He stared at the television on the coffee table in front of him, pondering turning it on to possibly relax and watch something. However, his exhaustion outweighed the urge to watch old programs; instead, he simply placed his pillow near the arm rest of the couch, laid down, and threw the blankets on top of him. He stared forward, eyelids becoming heavier before he curled into himself and began to drift—

GONG.

GONG.

GONG.

Adam was startled awake by the sound of the clock striking nine. The loud bells rang nine times as Adam stared at her face, all with an air of annoyance as he flinched with every ring. “Come on…” He muttered under his breath as he stood up. “You gonna do that every single fucking hour?”

He stood in front of the clock, staring up at her face before sighing and pushing aside the table next to it. “There has to be a way to shut this stupid thing off.” He thought as he stood next to the strangely tall antique clock. He took in a deep breath before grasping the wooden centerpiece, groaning slightly with exertion as he attempted to push it away from the wall, hoping to find a way to access the gears. It seemed to be especially hard to move, inching away at an angle as Adam pushed as hard as he could, all until he was able to reach the back of it.

He rubbed his hands on his pants as he looked at the back of the clock, seeing nothing but plain redwood until he looked up where the clock face was. He froze, as if he was turned into a stone statue in a single second. His eyes widened slightly, though the rest of his expression stayed blank as he stared at the pulsating mass protruding from near the top of the clock.

It was a large, dull red artery, connected the back of the clock, it merging with the wall and connecting to the clock through a hole in the wood. Veins draped from both the wall and the clock itself, all pulsing with every “heartbeat.” Adam stared up at the arterial vein with dead eyes, his twitching hand beginning to rise above his head as his eyes refused to look away from her lifeblood. He placed his cold hand against the artery, feeling the pulsing and twitching from the blood rushing through it. It was warm; inviting. He held it there for a few more moments, all before he pulled it down, staring at the thin layer of mucus and blood that was now coating the palm of his hand.

He stared straight forward, turning and taking a few steps forward until he was in front of the clock, staring at the floor with a dead look in his eyes. He silently kneeled down in front of her, soon lowering himself until he was lying on the ground, his face and body pressing against the shaggy, old carpeting. Blood began to seep from his nose, dripping onto the floor below him as he grew still. He stared at nothing, eyes widened enough to be able to see the blood vessels, all before they shut closed. It was warm near it. It was nice being near her. It was nice to be Home.

Day three, 1:00 PM

 Adam didn’t wake up that morning.

 Day four, 12:27 PM

 Adam awoke on the floor of the living room with a gasp. His bloodshot eyes stared forward with a half-lidded stare as he gained his bearings. His chest felt tight, and his limbs and back ached as he pushed himself off of the floor. His lungs stung with every harsh breath as he sat up. He paused as he sat on his knees, staring at the floor blankly in silence.

He doubled over and gagged, soon puking up everything in his body. Bile and blood poured out of his mouth as he spat it out on the ground in front of the clock, feeling his lungs burn and his stomach churn with every heave of his chest. He gasped and choked as thick, dark blood dripped from his mouth, the smell of bile stinging his nose as he stared at the red-stained carpet in front of him. He shakily pushed himself to his feet, wiping his mouth with his hoodie’s sleeve, staining it a deep crimson that was barely visible in the black fabric. He turned towards the front door, regaining the light in his eyes before grabbing his stuff from the couch and approaching the door.

He was greeted to Jonah staring at him from the van with a mix of relief and horror. Adam stepped off of the porch, stumbling slightly before he planted his shoes on the driveway, prepared to tell Jonah about—

“A-Adam.”

Jonah was hugging him.

Adam stared at Jonah with confusion, noticing he was shaking slightly as he wrapped his arms around Adam tightly. Adam stared at him for a few moments before shaking his head and pushing Jonah away.

“What is up with you,” He questioned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jonah had tears in his eyes as he answered. “I-I…I th…thought you died.”

“What?” Adam scoffed. “Dude, I was literally out here last night, I told you I’d talk to you in the morning.”

Jonah stared at him blankly as Adam shook his head and brushed past him, throwing his blankets into the van. Jonah couldn’t take his eyes off of Adam as he nonchalantly grabbed the laptop and look through the camera feeds. It was as if Jonah was afraid to let Adam out of his sight, wondering if he was even looking at Adam at all. Jonah didn’t expect Adam to explain why he didn’t respond to his calls, or Jonah banging on the door and window, or even Jonah yelling at him to get out, so despite Jonah’s own need to know what happened, he remained silent.

Jonah was terrified, and for once, he wasn’t sure if he was scared of the House or Adam himself.

 Day Five. 12:45 AM

 Jonah sat in the passenger seat with his legs propped up on the dashboard, brows furrowed as he stared forward at the garage door. He glanced at Adam through the rearview mirror, seeing that he was, once again, fiddling with his camcorder. “You’re going back in, aren’t you.” Jonah asked, though it sounded less like a question and more of a statement.

“Come on dude, not this shit again.” Adam scoffed. “I’ll be out in a couple hours.” Adam began to crawl out of the van, exiting the vehicle but being stopped by the passenger door swinging open and Jonah stepping out as well.

“No.”

“…What?”

“I said no.” Jonah repeated as he clenched his fists. “We were here for three days; that’s all we were being paid for. We’re done.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Adam shook his head slightly and attempted to walk past Jonah, only for him to step in front of him.

“No. There was no cat, we stayed for the three days,” Jonah said. “So therefore…we’re done.”

Adam glared at Jonah with a twitching jaw.

“I don’t give a shit how ‘interesting’ this fucking house is; I’m taking us home.” Jonah continued. “You can come crawling back later, but I’m not coming with you. Besides, Sarah’s probably starting to worry about us—”

“Who gives a shit what she thinks?” Adam snapped. “It’s not like she gets it.”

“What?”

“Think about it, all she does all day is take calls and make videos. That’s it.” Adam stepped towards Jonah. “She knows nothing of the real shit that’s going on here, and I’m going to find out.”

“Adam, listen to yourself—” Jonah pleaded, blocking Adam’s way when he once again attempted to walk past him. “You were never this much of a dick, were you?”

“Look, I get you don’t like Her, but can you at least suck it up for a few hours?” Adam questioned.

“Suck what u—”

A high pitched screech startled the two out of their argument, causing them to snap their attention back to the house. Jonah froze like a deer in headlights, all while Adam stared at where the sound originated with a look of curiosity behind his widened eyes.

“Oh…oh, fuck this—” Jonah began to turn back towards the van, only to be stopped by an iron grip on his wrist. He turned back, seeing Adam holding his arm as he stared at the front door, still hearing faint shrieking coming from inside. “A-Adam, let me go—” Jonah managed to free himself, only when Adam began to storm towards the door, swinging it open and entering the house once again. Jonah stared in horror before he clenched his fists harder with a huff.

“Hello?” Adam called as soon as he closed the door behind him. He awaited a response as he looked into the dark house, looking at the camcorder in his hand before he turned on night-vision mode and pointed it forwards. He saw the clock, the piano, the basement door, and everything else through a green, monochromatic lens, using the camera to see as he once again walked through the house, listening to the faint, high pitched screams that continued to sound.

He stepped through the kitchen, looking up to see the source of the screams; a pipe jutting out of the ceiling, releasing air fast enough to cause the sound. Adam sighed in disappointment, lowering his camera as he thought about turning back. However, as he turned, he began to hear a new sound, coming from behind him. It was music, and when Adam looked up, he saw a camera in the corner near the ceiling of the kitchen, playing the music through the speaker. Its red light flickered, and its lens was pointed towards Adam as if it was staring at him directly.

Adam turned towards the back hallway, seeing that it was longer than he remembered, stretching into the dark as music played from within the blackness. Adam stared into the hall, hearing the speaker of the camera crackle slightly, the music continuing as Adam carefully approached it. He stood in the middle of the hallway, noticing that there was an indented line in the walls and floor from where the locked door was, as if it simply vanished. He was able to hear faint breathing in front of him. He could see a red light flickering near the top corner of the hallway. He swallowed hard before holding his radio up. “Jonah?”

“Adam, I swear to God, please—”

 “Shh.” Adam slowly turned the tripod camera that was on the floor around with his foot, pointing it into the dark. “Watch.”

Adam stared into his camcorder’s screen, all before he slowly rose it up, pointing it towards the small red light he saw in the dark. He froze, eyes widening as he stared through the screen, feeling his heart sink while he stared at the thing in front of him.

“…oh my god.” Adam muttered, gagging slightly.

Attached to the CCTV camera was an arm, its hand wrapped around the metal casing, fusing with it with tendrils made of skin. Wires hung from the bottom of it, draping down before fusing with the arm, pushing the skin up as it ran down underneath the skin. Adam followed the arm, seeing that the figure was cloaked by a grey sweatshirt, halfway fused with its skin. Adam’s breathing remained calm despite his shaking hands as he saw that the figures torso was halfway in the wall near the top of the doors, with its right arm fused with the wallpaper. Veins and tendrils of skin and fabric spread from the fusion point, and he could see blood vessels underneath it. The figures ribcage was visible through the fabric, with a golden cross hanging in front of its sternum. Adam could swear he saw the outline of organs, but decided to look up at the figures face to push the idea away.

Its face was deathly pale and acne-ridden. Its left eye was covered by messy, chestnut brown hair, though its right eye was completely missing, with only the indent of an eye socket being left behind. Its mouth was gone, as if the lips fused together, making the nose the only facial feature left. Adam stared up at the figure stuck in the wall, seeing that it was eerily still, though Adam almost wished he wasn’t breathing. He hated that the man was alive.

“Adam, what the fuck is that.” Jonah questioned from the radio, his voice shaking. “A…A-Adam, what the FUCK IS THA—”

Click.

Adam placed the radio back onto his belt before he pulled out his spirit box from his pocket, flicking it on and hearing it rapidly cycle through various radio frequencies. Adam stared at the figure’s face, all before speaking.

“How did you…become like this?”

The music stopped.

“…Where are you from?” Adam asked.

Quiet static was the only response from the camera’s speaker.

“…Do you remember your name?”

The figure remained still, his breath appearing to become heavier, with his ribs shifting with every breath. Adam stared up at the figure, brows furrowing as he awaited a response, despite beginning to think he was incapable of communication at all.

“Are you—”

“Get. Out.”

Adam looked up, noticing that the voice wasn’t coming from the spirit box at all, instead coming from the camera fused to the figures left hand.

“I’m…not here to hurt—”

“GET. OUT.” The figure shifted, causing Adam to step back in surprise. The figures head tilted to the side, his hair moving out of the way enough to make his left eye visible. It was wide, cloudy, and bloodshot, clearly unable to be seen through.

“…Do you remember your name?” Adam asked again, despite the air of anger coming from the figure in front of him.

The figure didn’t respond with much more than him shifting, seemingly attempting to tear himself away from the wall, pulling himself away as much as he could before it let out a muffled, pained sound and relaxing once again, lowering his head. Silence fell before Adam glanced to the side, quietly shutting off the tripod camera as he kept his camcorder fixed on the figure.

“Who…are…you.”

Adam looked up at the figure, seeing that he was vaguely facing his direction, slowly pushing the camera towards Adam’s face. It became close enough to where Adam could see the lens clearly, noticing that behind the glass was a green iris instead of a simple camera.

“…My name’s Adam.” Adam stated. “I work for the Bythorne Paranormal society.”

The figure remained silent, still as the camera examined Adam’s face through the black and white footage.

“Do you remember your name?” Adam asked for a third time, beginning to lose his patience.

The figure returned back to its original position, twitching slightly before his head turned away.

“…M…Mark.” The camera’s speaker played, it sounding more human than before. “Mark…H…Heathcliff.”

Heathcliff.

Adam thought for a moment before speaking again. “Do you know…someone named…Sarah Heathcliff?”

Mark’s head turned towards him, and despite what was visible on his face having no eyes, Adam felt that his stare was cold.

“…Where…is…she…?” Mark asked.

“I work with her.” Adam stated. “She works at the BPS…like me.”

“Is she…s…safe?”

Adam’s brows furrowed as he noticed that Mark was shaking. “Yes.”

“Does…she…remember me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does she remember me.” Mark repeated.

“I just told you, I don’t know—”

“DOES. SHE. REMEMBER. ME.”

Adam remained silent as Mark shifted again, lowering his camera and facing away. “…She’s…safe.” He muttered through the static. “She’s…alive.”

Adam spotted a clear liquid dripping from the camera’s lens; tears.

“How did…you become like this?” Adam questioned.

“Leave.” Mark’s voice shook slightly. “You’re…a…fool for coming here.”

“I did what I had to do.”

“You…you don’t care about him…do you?” Mark questioned.

“…Who?”

“Your…friend.” Mark elaborated. “He’s…w-waiting outside…for you.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can…see…him.”

The camera feed from the outer side of the house pointed towards the driveway, watching as Jonah paced back and forth on the driveway.

“I…hate you.” Mark stated as he switched his attention back to Adam, causing him to stare at him in confusion. “You…people like you are the reason I’m…like this. Does that…answer your fucking question?”

“I never did anything—”

“You ignored him.” Mark interrupted. “…You dragged him here. You put him in danger.”

“He’s an idiot.” Adam snapped. “He doesn’t know how deep this case goes. He doesn’t understand Her like I do.”

Mark remained still at that statement, his camera pointed at Adam’s furious expression.

“…God…It has you too.”

“…What?”

“ADAM!”

Adam turned around to hear Jonah bursting through the front door, looking around the living room with a look of anger. Adam took one last glance at Mark before shutting off his camcorder and turning back towards the living room; all while the security cameras he passed by followed his movement.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” Adam questioned as soon as he entered the living room, seeing that Jonah was standing in front of the clock. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“I’m done, okay?” Jonah snapped. “We’re fucking leaving, and you’re coming with me.”

“Dude, I’m so close to figuring out this place, I just need to spend more time with her—”

“SHUT UP!” Jonah shouted. “I’m fucking DONE with you. You keep ignoring me; acting like I’m a fucking moron for just wanting you to be safe. We are leaving, and we’re leaving now.”

“Are you fucking serious?!” Adam snapped. “You’ve done nothing but whine the entire trip. We finally find something worth our time, something meaningful, and you decide to be too much of a fucking coward to help me with it. Can’t you take a single second to not joke and actually take this seriously?”

“Look, I get it, I joke around sometimes, but that’s just what I do.” Jonah defended.

“Well, maybe it shouldn’t be.”

“I’m done; whatever the fuck is here is gonna get you killed, and I’m not going to be here to check for a pulse.” Jonah’s breath was harsh as he spoke, all while Adam’s silent fury rose.

“Just FUCKING LEAVE THEN!” Adam pointed towards the front door as he yelled. “LEAVE.”

Jonah stared at Adam in a stunned silence, his head shaking slightly and his brows turning downwards.

“I’m not leaving.” Adam stated. “Not now. I’ll figure out this thing…I will.”

Silence fell as the two stared at each other, a tense mood in the air until Jonah spoke quietly.

“…Eve was right about you.”

Adam froze, staring at Jonah with a mix of shock and anger, his eyes strangely…dead.

“You really are just a fucking prick.”

Jonah was barely able to process the first punch Adam threw at him.

Jonah stumbled back, lightly pressing his hand against the red splotch on his face as he let out a pained groan. Jonah looked back up, only to be greeted by Adam grabbing Jonah’s sweatshirt, holding him still before Jonah grasped his arms, pushing Adam away and causing him to drop his camcorder to the ground. Adam glanced at the camera on the floor, muttering to himself.

“You son of a BITCH—”

Adam swung another punch at Jonah, who only barely dodged it, causing Adam to slam his fist against the clock’s glass, shattering it. The clocks bells rung, and pipes squealed, but neither seemed to notice, Adam staring at Jonah with a blank, yet furious expression, not seeming to be effected by the glass in his fist. Jonah slammed his fist against Adams face, though it barely seemed to get a reaction out of him aside from an exclamation of pain.

Adam grasped Jonah’s arms as they struggled, Jonah attempting to free himself from Adam’s fury-fueled attack and Adam attempting to get closer. Jonah managed to free himself, grasping Adam’s neck with a free hand and pushing him back, his eyes widened and his heart beating out of his chest. He grasped his “friend’s” neck hard enough to make Adam choke slightly, his pale hands gripped onto Jonah’s leather-covered arm. Adam was slammed against the clock, only causing the glass shards left to fall into the compartment inside. Adam was stronger than Jonah, and he knew it, and as he reached for Jonah’s face, he knew he’d prove it.

He grasped Jonah’s nose ring and tore it out.

Jonah let out a loud yell, stumbling back and holding his hand over his rapidly bleeding nose, the crimson blood oozing onto his bruised hand. Jonah’s wide eyes were fixated on the ground, eyes tearing up as he covered the lower part of his face. Adam stared at Jonah as he rubbed his neck lightly, looking down to see the bloody nose piercing in his other hand, seeing a small piece of flesh that came with it. Adam glanced back at Jonah, only to see him staring back with a haunted, yet furious expression. Before he did anything stupid however, he simply walked backwards, soon quickly turning around and running for the door, slamming it behind him.

Adam stared at the door, his breath heavy as he looked down at the floor, seeing his camcorder on the ground before he leaned over and retrieved it, seeing that the screen on it was cracked. He stared at it, letting out a soft sigh before closing it and staring at nothing in particular. He looked at his right hand, seeing the shards of glass sticking out of the flesh, with dark blood seeping from every cut. It hurt; Adam could finally feel it.

He looked back towards the front door when he heard the sound of the van starting, walking towards the living room window and pushing open one of the curtains to see outside. The van was pulling out of the driveway, hesitating on the street before speeding down the road, leaving Adam in the dust. He felt his heart begin to race, his emotions finally making themselves known as he reached for his radio, switching it on.

“Jonah?” He called. “Jonah, where are you going?”

Radio silence.

“Jonah?!” Adam repeated, his voice hoarse. “God fucking damn it, please—”

Adam was interrupted by the sound of a door closing somewhere in the house, snapping him out of his train of thought. He turned towards the other side of the house, realizing the sound was from the back hall. He looked down at his camcorder, his instinct telling him to turn it on, but instead, he simply placed it on top of the television before walking carefully towards the hallway.

Adam stood near the entrance of the hallway, seeing that the tripod had been knocked over, with the camera’s lens being broken entirely. He looked up, seeing Mark was completely still once again, the camera and its veins dangling from his spot near the ceiling. Adam turned to the left, seeing a door he hadn’t noticed before, seeing that it was cracked open slightly. He grasped the door handle, swinging it open and stepping inside.

It was presumably a guest bedroom, though it was completely empty, without any beds or furniture. A single window was in the opposite wall, and when Adam turned around, he saw a closet door right beside the entrance to the room. The wallpaper was a plain grey, and the wooden floors appeared strangely soft, despite the flooring in the rest of the home feeling perfectly stable. He stepped further into the room, soon standing in the middle of it seeing that there was nothing of note in there. Perhaps he imagined the sound.

“What…have…you…done.”

Adam froze when he heard the voice behind him, slowly turning to see what was speaking, only to stare in horror at the figure in front of him. It was a man, or what appeared like one, leaning down slightly just to fit in the room. He had an eerily large smile, with what appeared to be small veins draping from his mouth. His wide, bloodshot right eye stared at Adam, with his other being nothing but arteries and veins pouring out from his eye socket, fusing with his skin. His black, wavy hair was messy, though it appeared to be hastily and lazily brushed to the side. The face was vile to look at, making a pit form in Adam’s gut, but his body was worse.

His legs and arms were stretched out to impossible lengths, the bones curved and bent in unnatural ways, cloaked by a torn, stitched together black suit, which was complimented by a white dress shirt, red bowtie, and a wilted rose on his lapel. Adam looked towards its torso, seeing that his ribs were in plain view, with his suit and skin wrapped around them and his spine as if he didn’t have any organs whatsoever. Veins and strands of skin and fabric swayed in the empty cavity, attaching themselves to his spine and pelvis bones. He looked starved; BEYOND starved even, as if he was literally nothing but skin and warped bones. Adam looked back up at the figures face, seeing that his smile was fading slightly.

“You…aren’t a polite guest…” It stated. “She doesn’t appreciate that…you really hurt her, you know...”

“Who are you?” Adam questioned, wondering if he should have asked what the thing was rather than who as soon as he asked the question.

“That doesn’t matter right now, Murray.” The figure smiled again as he folded his boney hands together. “I just…wanted to talk for a little while.”

 2:13 AM

 Jonah was sobbing as he stared at the dark roads in front of him, using one hand to steer and the other to hold his continuously bleeding nose wound. He had run out of tears to shed, despite his dry sobs and cries as he drove past the speed limit, pushing away his worries of sliding off of the road. He hyperventilated, shaking his head before pulling over to the side of the road, next to a field that sat at the left and right of the road.

Jonah let go of the steering wheel, using the other hand to cover his nose, noticing that he could taste blood, and now the blood was drying to his face. He stared forward, thoughts running in his mind faster than a racecar.

“You left him behind, like a coward.”

“He was right about you.”

“Don’t you miss being there?”

“Don’t you want to go back?”

“You want to go back.”

“She misses you.”

“Come back home—”

Jonah was interrupted by the sound of the radio blasting music, causing him to let out a small yell out of shock. His heart sunk as he listened to the familiar 80’s tune, with the first lyrics, “Like the wind” feeling like pins to his ears. “Shut up…s-shut the fuck up…” Jonah sobbed as he felt the thoughts run through his head, all of which feeling not his own. The music continued, despite his pleas. Leave me alone, please. God, I’m sorry, please just leave me be. Please just get the FUCK OUT OF MY HEA—

 2:33 AM

 Jonah was silent as he drove back into Mandela, ignoring his smashed radio and the pain in his foot. His eyes were tired; defeated. He could only hope Adam got his shit together as he made his way back. Jonah couldn’t help but notice a strange feeling deep in his gut as he drove back, something he couldn’t pinpoint.

However, it felt similar to homesickness.

 Adam couldn’t move his eyes away from the alternate in front of him as it spoke, its smile not fading once during its monologue. “You were invited here, you know.” It stated. “I expected you to be…better. However…you…had to ruin that, didn’t you?”

“I never did anything.”

“You hurt her.” The alternate said, seeming to have a tone of sadness. “You…really hurt her tonight. Do you hear it, Murray?”

The alternate grew silent as Adam listened, hearing nothing until the sound finally reached his ears; creaking. He could hear the clock ticking in the living room as well, though it began to sound less of a clock and more of a heart beating.

“She’s stressed.” The alternate said. “The walls…are creaking. Her heart…is racing. All because…you decided to be…a very…disrespectful guest.”

Adam had no clue what to say, only able to listen as the alternate continued.

“…Though…that was your goal from the very start, wasn’t it?” The alternate asked. “You came here…not because you wanted to honor her…you came her to study her…like an animal.” The alternate glanced to the side. “Though…despite it all…you…remind me of me.”

“…What?”

“You remind me of how I acted so long ago…so…disobedient.” The alternate said. “So…lost. Home made me whole again…and she was willing to give you that offer. Though…perhaps its best you refused. She needs me after all, not something like…you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Adam questioned.

“Have you ever felt...isolated, Murray?” the alternate asked as it inched closer. “As if you were never understood by the people you called friends, shunned by those you cared for? Wondering why; why can't I feel anything of worth towards these people...?”

           Adam stepped backwards, further into the room until he was directly in the center of it.

“Well, you were never meant to be understood.” The tall alternate continued. “You're trying to find a mother that was never truly yours. Trying to fit into skin that does not belong to you. Don't you see? The child in the crib that night has been dead for years...though I can't help but feel as though you knew that already.

The alternate leaned down, staring Adam in the eyes as it asked one final question.

“You were never, truly, 'Adam Murray'....were you?"

Adam could only stare in confused horror as the alternate stood tall over him, letting out a forced laugh. “Well…I suppose it doesn’t matter, now does it…” The alternate said. “She’s…been starving for so long. So perhaps…this is the best fate for you.”

Adam didn’t understand what was being told to him, only able to stare with wide, horrified eyes until he felt an intense burning in his feet. He looked down, attempting to move his legs, only to find that they were planted in the ground, the soles of his shoes appearing to “melt” into the flooring as he felt himself slowly sink. He let out panicked yells and calls for help as he attempted to tear his legs from the floor, all while the alternate watched, slowly backing out of the room, into the darkness, leaving Adam to himself.

Adam felt his skin melt and bones deconstruct under his weight, being absorbed by the “wooden” flooring as he screamed, pulling out his radio as a final attempt to get help. “JONAH!” He screamed. “JONAH PLEASE, HELP ME!” He felt a surge of pain hit him at once, causing him to drop the radio to the ground. He screamed in agony as the radio sunk into the ground, Adam feeling as he sunk down to his thighs, crying in both mental and physical turmoil, unheard by anyone who would care.

 The first thing Jonah heard when he pulled into the driveway was screaming.

He parked the vehicle, shutting it off as he listened closely, his breath quickening when he came to the realization that he wasn’t simply hearing things. He stared at the house, taking in a deep breath before opening the door of the van, slamming it shut as he rushed towards the house, shouting Adam’s name as he approached. He opened the door and ran into the house, closing the door while unaware of the van slowly sinking into the driveway’s pavement.

“ADAM?!”

Adam could hear Jonah’s voice rapidly approaching, unable to call back as he screamed, attempting to free his right arm, which was sinking into the ground beside him. Jonah ran into the room, looking around before staring at Adam, his face changing to pure horror as he saw that Adam was halfway through the ground, his hoodie and skin fusing with the floor like liquid. Dark, thick blood oozed from Adam’s nose and mouth as he shrieked in anguish, Jonah being unable to do anything but back away, his head shaking slightly as he muttered to himself, attempting to convince himself that it wasn’t real as he leaned against the room’s wall.

Adam stared at Jonah with a pleading look in his teary eyes; an expression that told a million words. It was an expression that said “I’m sorry” without saying a single word, despite it being far too late for apologies. Jonah attempted to move from the wall, beginning to scream when he realized he was stuck, unable to move. He turned to the right, seeing his right arm, which was bent towards the ceiling, was slowly fusing with the grey wallpaper, his leather jacket becoming one with his skin and melding to the wall. Jonah attempted to turn his head forward, only screaming harder and louder when he was greeted by a burning pain from the right side of his face as it too attached to the wall.

Adam could do nothing but watch, barely able to feel his chest as his arms sunk below the surface, staring at Jonah as his legs and arms sunk into the wall behind him.  Adam’s screaming continued until his mouth was taken too, watering eyes watching Jonah suffer all before his head went under. Adam expected to die; to cease to exist entirely. However, he found himself floating weightlessly within a dark void, unable to speak, see, or hear. He pondered if he was in Hell, all until he surfaced.

He sat up, finding that he was lying in a pool of red, thick liquid. He looked down, barely able to see his own hands, though he could make out that they were covered in blood. He frantically looked around, seeing that he was back in the house, though it appeared…different. It was mirrored, and some of the furniture was floating as if in water. Adam noticed as he stood up that his hair and clothes also rippled, moving as if he was under the sea. He could barely see that he was in the living room, or at least a version of it that was warped and twisted. He continued to survey his surroundings until he froze, holding his hand up to his neck as he realized something.

He couldn’t breathe.

Adam choked, feeling as if he was drowning in air as he stumbled around, the blood splashing with every movement of his feet. He felt something attaching to his right ankle, similar to the burning he felt as he sunk into the floor, and with it, he began to feel a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. He was suffocating, unable to get a single breath in as much as he tried. His wide eyes darted around in a panic, all before fixating on something he saw in front of him.

Standing in the dark was a young man, cloaked in a black suit, near identical to the alternate he saw. However, he was…human. He was staring at Adam with a mix of confusion, fear, and concern, unmoving as Adam stared back, trembling as he attempted to get a single breath of air into his lungs.

The man began to walk towards Adam, slowly approaching, as if hesitant. Adam was going to die in that hellscape; he believed so with his entire heart. He could do nothing but silently panic as the man grew closer, slowly raising his blood-coated hand until he stopped directly in front of Adam. Silence fell, the man nodding slightly before he rose his other hand up and shoved Adam to the ground.

Adam fell through the blood, as if no floor was there in the first place, finding himself in the dark, inky “sea” once again. He looked down, seeing a faint light in the distance, and as he felt his thoughts become foggy, he swam towards it. He scrambled for the light reaching towards it as his vision became blurry. It grew closer and closer, and Adam could feel cool air instead of the warm blood he was in. He began to black out, wondering if it was the end.

Until he finally made it out.

He took in a harsh, deep breath when he felt himself resurface, coughing up blood and bile onto the floor in front of him, his body trembling. His eyes flicked open, his vision tunneled as he regained his bearings, breathing in the cool air of the room he was in. He looked down at himself, breath hitching when he saw that his legs were missing, with only his waist up protruding from the floor. His hoodie appeared to have fused with his skin and unhealthily thin frame, the BPS logo on his chest melting into the rest of the fabric. He pressed his hands against the now solid floor, all before pausing, raising his hand in front of his face as he stared at them.

The skin in his hands appeared somewhat transparent, like ballistic gel. He could see his veins and bones, along with the faint red color of his equally transparent muscles. He stared at his cold, thin hands before looking down at the floor, noticing something right beside his body; his piercings. They were in a small pile, and when Adam felt his lip and ears, he realized that they seemed to have been ejected from his body entirely. He wanted to scream, though he was unable to find his voice as he looked towards the wall, seeing that Jonah had suffered a similar fate.

Jonah was halfway through the wall, his back completely consumed by the wallpaper. His ribs were visible through his white sweatshirt, and his lower legs had sunken into the wall, fusing with it. His face made Adam’s heart sink, seeing that his teeth were visible, as if his lips had disappeared and his skin fused with his gums. His skeletal face had thin veins visible from under the thin skin, and his teeth seemed to have even grown in the wrong places, as if mimicked improperly. His left eye had shifted to the side of his head, staring straight forward before it fixated on Adam’s form. He let out quiet whimpers, his jaw twitching with every sound.

Adam stared back at Jonah’s one remaining eye, feeling something emitting from it; a feeling. It was a feeling that made Adam’s gut churn just by feeling it coming from Jonah. It was a look that said a simple request, and nothing more:

“Kill me.”

[messagesfromthestarrs]

When You Stare Too Long Into The Abyss, It Will Stare Back.

warnings: kind of a vent, suicide and its ideation, self harm, graphic descriptions, romanticisation(?) of mental illness and self harm, personification of intrusive thoughts, gore, just kinda messed up? also monsterfucker vibes, gender identity issues (?), hints of transphobia, [~1000 words]

Darkness enveloped her him. It ebbed and flowed around his body, pseudopodia-like tendrils gently curling into his hair. It wrapped around her his arms and threaded itself between his fingers. It pressed itself up against his back and dripped down his shoulders. She He stood still. He felt the abyssal fingers and arms wrap softly around his chest, his waist, his throat. He let it.

She He felt everything yet nothing, his mind a dim sort of chaos. the kind of disarray you find your thoughts to be in when you're so, so tired. too tired to even notice it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so, so sorry." He stood still, silent tears leaking out of his bloodshot eyes. He hated crying. He hated how crying made his skin burn, his throat choke, his friends laugh. But right there, in that moment, he didn't even notice his tears. He kept standing there, all alone, not moving a single muscle. He had no right to. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He had no right to feel or think or speak. The simple act of frowning was a serious offence. The darkness brushed against his face, and he kept his expression blank. "I'm sorry."

"I know," the dark mist whispered back. It floated all around his body, under his arms and over his chest and caressing his legs. It didn't hurt him, no, never hurt. It was almost comforting. But you would need to be a fool to truly believe that. The darkness would always be there. He deserved it. He wanted it. Needed.

The shadow took a vague form in front of him, a slight indication of a silhouette. There was only a small bit of space left between him and it, a small bit of light dancing on his face and tears. In that last moment, staring at the abyss, his face contorted. His eyes widened and eyebrows rose up and mouth twisted and tears flowed. He knew he looked hideous. In that last moment he showed a small rebellion. 

In that fraction of a second, the silhouette closed the gap between them. It continued to ebb and flow and drip and float all over and under and around his body. It seeped into his open mouth and crawled down his throat and pressed so, so sweetly against his lips. His eyes rolled back into his head and his vision went entirely black. There was nothing but the darkness. The ever present darkness.

It was swirling inside and outside his body now, clawing at his ribs, dancing in his stomach, kissing his heart, biting his tongue. It seeped into every cell of his being. 

Where did the darkness end and where did he begin? He didn't know. He didn't remember who or what he was before the darkness had rooted his feet to that spot, before the abyss had inched into his life and surrounded him completely. A distant and faint image of a little girl came into his mind. The dark talons swiped it away. He felt calm. He felt nothing.

He wasn't himself anymore. He was part of the darkness now. He knew it. Him and It were now part of the same being and cosmos. Him and It were now a they. They were one.

They had no thoughts, no feelings, no duties or sorrows or joy. Did they even exist? Did it even matter? They picked up a knife (does it even matter where it came from?), and brought it to what used to be his left arm. Then slowly, gently, they drew the knife across the arm. Horizontal red lines appeared and shiny red beads formed on them. They slashed at the arm again, vertical and harsher this time. This felt right. He deserved it. They were working together to redeem him, to absolve him from his sins. 

They kept a firm hold on the knife and sliced across their chest, then almost sensually, plunged it into where his heart might have been. Beautiful crimson splashed out and flowed and flowed. They sliced their stomach and his right arm too, watching as the blood was set free from its vessels. They plucked out his old eyes. He didn't deserve that privilege of sight.

He felt so light. numb. The blood of his old body flowed freely, splashing onto the abstract ground they were on. Crimson and scarlet and black and ebony danced and swirled together in the most mesmerising waltz. The metallic scent was almost overwhelming now, but they kept gliding the knife over their flesh. They made the knife dance the same way a puppeteer would with his wooden dolls. 

The shadowy silhouette emerged out of his body for a moment, holding up his eyeless head. They dragged the knife across his mouth in a mimicry of a smile, his own blood painting his lips an alluring red. The silhouette stuck out its misty tongue and licked the blood off of his face. It had no mouth, no eyes, no nose, and yet, oh and yet it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen felt. The shadow towered over him again and dripped onto his face, the dark sludge mixing with his bright red blood. He licked his lips in anticipation. 

He felt it now, more than ever, how close he was to the darkness. He stared long enough into the abyss, and it stared back. All was slowly fading away, like how a movie fades to black in the end. The silhouette leaned down to press against his lips one last time. And then, they finally, finally, merged into the dark.

—

The next morning, a mother would open the door to her daughter's room, only to find it stained red. Her daughter's son's lifeless body would lie blissfully on the floor. She would scream.

[naturalist-doctor]

winston lore post; studies on antidepressants and how i taught myself to die

tw [ death, mental illness, descriptions of blood and gore, suicide and suicidal ideation, guns. ]

Dr. Corvus toiled on the floor. His skull cracked and folded under his skin. Masses of flesh waltzed and crawled loudly begging for help, knowing there was a better way. But Winston is a stubborn man, who dared not to listen.

His abdomen crawled with life--something that wasn't him, something hopeful and naive and loud. He cried out to it, something about how he’d tried every antidepressant and drug and chore and it never worked. The pharmacy and the oils and the stars lied to him, how he couldn’t be cured. A life lived in eternity is a life which he sees no hope in. Not like this. Not like Corvus.

Every cough drew up more bile, decayed crawling remains of morning coffee, beady silver swimming and refusing to bond to the blackened blood draining down the man’s chin and throat and core. He grabbed the lump in his muscles and pulled and tugged and fought and it did not come loose. He didn’t want to live, but he is the plaything of whatever cruel deity lies above. Whoever granted him his birth--one truth--but refuses to grant him one more--his death. He collapses, hitting the hardwood and being forced out of whatever contortion he tried to maintain. He didn’t remember how it felt anyway.

Doktor Corvus was a desperate man ever since that day when he walked home from his studies and put a bullet to his head and his heart, stubbornly, loudly, defiantly beat in his chest despite his brains on the wall and his skull glistening like glass. Broken like glass. And he looked up from his state on the floor, denied death as the poison tore through his body and ran thick in his veins, and he saw a man. Tall, like him. Brown-haired, like him. His messy hair flowed around the cavern in his face where a heart beat, loudly, almost as if he was hearing it in his own head.

The man vanished into Hyde’s mind, and suddenly, he felt different: like his body wasn’t his, and that he wanted to live.

Hyde sat across the counter as Cattie mindlessly chatted with him, the doctor sipping on some fancy coffee. He lamented on how the attempts to clear his veins of the silvery medicine Jekyll had fed Winston when he was whole, and by extent, the masked naturalist, were unsuccessful. But he wasn’t the one searching for a way out of living. He was searching for a way out of living as a passenger in a train, a way to rid Jekyll of this body. 

After all, that man took no issue with throwing his birth given name away, so why should Hyde let him keep it?

[griefbuilt]

the  shitty  thing  was  that  lucien  was  right  -----  usually  blood  loss  was  a  decent  way  to  go.  sure,  it  wasn’t  as  quick  as  a  snapped  neck,  but  the  adrenaline  couldn’t  pump  as  hard  as  it  did  when  you  were  being  asphyxiated.  it  didn’t  make  you  fight,  body  kicking  into  some  wretched  survival  mode,  bouts  of  strength  you  didn’t  have  making  you  act  out  in  desperation.  no,  blood  loss  was  peaceful,  in  some  ways.  the  world  just  got  quieter.  hazy.  your  head  got  dizzy.  your  breathing  got  shallow.  your  heart  rate  increased.  THUD THUD THUD  of  your  heart  beat  was  your  constant  companion  ------  sometimes  the  only  one.  no  one  thought  to  tell  the  poor  little  fucker  to  give  up.  but  the  cold  ?  that  sucked.  the  pain  from  the  muscles  asphyxiating  ?  that  sucked  too.  still,  there  were  worse  ways  to  die.  you  just  had  to let  yourself  sink  into  the  feeling.  give  in. 

 really,  what  else  was  he  going  to  do  ?  slumped  over  in  the  chair,  blood  dripped  from  his  face  onto  the  carpet.  from  his  arms  onto  the  carpet.  from  his  legs  onto  the  carpet.  damn,  he  was  a  crown  of  thorns  away  from  being  jesus  christ  himself,  wasn’t  he  ?  klaus  would’ve  had  a  harder  time  cleaning  that  one  up,  though..... fuck.  klaus.  caroline.  tyler,  rebekah.  they  were  going  to  be  pissed  about  this,  weren’t  they  ?  and  after  bonnie  had  put  all  that  hard  work  in  last  time.  but  fuck  being  angry,  he  needed  them  to  be  safe.  to  figure  this  shit  out.  the  hunter’s  curse  would  give  them  a  little  more  time,  throw  luke  off  his  game  (  god,  he  hoped  the  man  couldn’t  turn  a  corner  without  seeing  him  ),  but  it  wasn’t  a  done  deal.....and  that  was  going  to  what  he  was  most  upset  about.  if  he  was  going  to  die,  he  had  wanted  things  to  be  wrapped  up  all  pretty  first.  it  never  happened  like  that,  though.  

klaus  was  too  fucking  old  and  too  goddamn  stubborn  to  go  out  like  this.  same  with  rebekah  and  kol  and  elijah.....they’d  fix  it.  make  luke  pay  like  hell  all  the  meanwhile  for  it,  too.  and  tyler  ?  he’d  be  alright.  perks  of  this  throuple  thing  was  that  there  was  always  someone  else  there,  he  supposed.  and  it  saved  rebekah  from  all  those  stupid  goddamn  talks  about  his  feelings  and  addiction  and  blah  blah  blah.....  caroline  he  worried  about,  but  she  had  klaus  and  stefan.  this  might  be  the  thing  that  made  her  fight  all  the  harder  for  them.  elena  had  damon  back.  sure  it  would  hurt,  but  they  had  voth  learned  from  last  time.  and  bonnie....bonnie  should’ve  learned  by  now  that  he  was  a  better  ghost  than  person.  everyone  was  good.  everyone  had  someone.  no  loose  ends.  

they’d  be  all  right  though.  they’d  survive  this.  they’d  move  on.  things  would  be  fine.  

he  let  his  eyes  fall  shut.  

he  was  sick  of  shivering.  tired  of  hurting.  

just  sink  a  little  deeper.  

@sanguishqsstarters​

[gildead]

CONTENT WARNING: THIS DRABBLE CONCERNS THE DISCUSSION OF THE GRAPHIC DEATH OF A CHILD. IT IS RECOMMENDED YOU DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU HAVE FINISHED THE RECENT ARG. ALSO VISUAL DEPICTION OF BLOOD, GORE, AND FACIAL HORROR. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Picking up right where the thread with Petrel left off.

"You knew. You... all... knew."

Perhaps it was inevitable that this day would come. The day where they finally had to talk about what had happened to Gold on that day. Celebi just didn't think that day would be today. Evidentially, neither did Gold's Typhlosion, given the fearful stare she looked at Celebi with. Even Forever had stopped chewing on Gold's discarded shoe to listen in.

"Yes, Gold. We knew." Celebi's eye flickered to Forever, then Sable. "Most of us."

Gold went quiet, so much so that the only noise came from Hurry peeking out from behind his mother. "Did... Did Silver know too?"

"Boy... be reasonable. Why else would he have come back?" Please heaved out an uncomfortable sigh.

As soon as he received his confirmation, Gold's sleeves immediately began disintegrating. He froze in place, his expression despondent. "...Everyone knew. And you... you let me forget."

"Your friend... Lugia betrayed you. My fellow titan." Celebi gazed sympathetically. "We worried that the memory would hurt you more than you already were."

"More than being physically ripped apart and left to bleed out." Gold's stumps blossomed open, revealing the bone and sinew within. Black sludge began leaking from his eyes and nose. His tone was dangerously even.

"That's not what they... Gold." Please approached Gold, a paw outstretched towards his shoulder. "We wanted to make sure you'd be okay before we talked about it."

"You think I'm okay?" Gold wrenched himself away violently. "You think I-- that I was okay with any of this?!"

"Enough." Celebi's voice hardened. "She humbly requested that I save your life. I gazed into her memories, and I saw your pure heart. How you put your own safety on the line to protect your team. How you came so close to opening-"

"I DIDN'T ASK YOU TO BRING ME BACK!" Gold coughed violently after he screamed before continuing. "You think this is... that this is living? That I want to stay like this forever? That I can't see anybody I love 'cuz I'll just make them upset all over again? I'm dead! I should've stayed dead! You should've just left me alone!"

He turned to the tree and rammed his head against it repeatedly in between choked sobs, denting and splintering the wood under the sheer force. With each hit, he slowed down until he fully came to a stop, sliding to the ground. For a while, he just sat there, crying.

Hurry waddled over to him. "G-Gold-?"

Gold whipped around. His sockets had turned black, and his face contorted terribly as he rose up again. As he let out a primal screech, a cluster of Unown fanned around him, spelling out a terrible message.

S T A Y A W A Y F R O M M E

And just like that, he disappeared into the woods.

Forever's jaw dropped, along with the shoe. Hurry, sniffling, rushed back over to his mother, burying his face in her fur as he wept. As for her, she and Away watched after where Gold had fled, at complete losses for words.

Sable also watched, her tiny face scrunched in concentration. A couple of Unown from her own flock came out from behind her, and she shared glances with them. After a moment, she nodded.

And stepped forward, ready to follow her trainer. He was there for her before.

It was time to repay him.

[scamera-writes]

Eating Your Love

Contains heavier topics (content warnings in the tags)

I’ve never loved something with half my heart I only love fully, whole-heartedly if you will

I love like jumping off a cliff and not knowing if there is water below. I love like a gun with two barrels and one bullet and laying it in your hands with my eyes closed. I love like sipping at poisoned wine and knowing you have the antidote under your tongue. I love like a knife to my sternum and trusting you to wrap your hands around it.

I will stare into your irises and give you my heart Still warm with love and blood The shades of red mix on our palms And I will leave fingerprints on your cheek

A gift of my undying willingness and trust A sign of my hopefulness and passion A desperate ask for you to place your heart in my hands A wish for a returning love to cradle to my face

We can place them on the table And sit and eat together Sipping at glasses of blood While our hearts pump in synchrony Staining the porcelain red

Your teeth will chip the chalice And I cut my tongue in your mouth. Your lips will spill smoke And I will let my lungs fill with gray ash.

I will leave my chest seeping with blood A gaping hole to my missing organ Sticky and raw flesh, red in my love for you Torn bones cutting your fingers when you touch me

So that when you drop my hand and my heart I can place it back in my rib cage Stitch the wound closed with kisses And wait for another to pour my love out onto

-Eating Your Love (By me)

[heirbane]

[  FOUR  ] :  “ you should go. ” 🐺🐇❤️

Men did deranged things when they were grieving, he thought. He remembered how Varis had crumpled after his firstborn, a daughter, was delivered sleeping; he remembered how further he curled into himself, as if his body could protect his heart, when his wife perished upon Zenos' arrival.

Varis became a shell of the leader that Gaius once was peer to, and he felt wholly helpless in aiding his grief. Varis was barely twenty summers when his son was born and he became a widow. Gaius was a dozen or so his senior and had yet to settle down or find children to call his own.

He remembered all of this, a chorus of grief and sorrow, when Lucia fled from his home. He remembered this when Livia perished, and then Rhitahtyn, and now it repeated over and over. His grief and his understanding mixed like oil and water, one weighing heavier than the other.

Men did deranged things when they grieved. Gaius finally understood Varis, empty and yet not, his whole being shattered and sharper than blades if one attempted to help put him back together.

Gaius would accept the bleeding, ripped apart palms. He would handle his grief with all the elegance of a man trying to control the very tide of the oceans, forcing all his sharp pieces back together.

He was an Imperial soldier. He had felled nations and commanded hundreds; he had slit the throats of those who even gazed at the throne. He had always had his chess pieces exactly where he had wanted them to be, and not a hair out of place.

But now - now - cutting sinew and flesh from the bones of his fingers felt better than to admit he had no control over what happened to his remaining children. He had placed them in the care of the Empire, hopeful they would be raised appropriately in his stead.

(Maybe if he held the blades of himself tight enough, he could bleed out, blood black with guilt in the Ala Mhigan sands. He deserved this, he thought. He did.)

Arye's voice felt like ice against the heat of his shame. All at once, he was where he had been before he sunk into dispair: in the Warrior's tent, standing toe-to-toe with him. The Viera had his weapon drawn and the metal blade dug into his side, a threat he felt even past his overcoat and other layers.

When had he approached? When had he placed his bare hand on the back of Arye's neck, standing still and wholly enraptured? It was as if he had delivered himself to the man to be devoured, whether by his lips or by his teeth, and was waiting patiently to see what would happen.

The blade on his body hadn't startled him. It was a threat he yearned for, a sensation among the numbness that crept up his throat, the aching squeeze in his ribs. It was just his voice, velvety sharp, an ivory white rose.

Gaius cleared his throat. He removed his hand from the nape of Arye's neck, golden irises dull and far away as they found something else in the man's tent to focus on.

You could have killed me now, he wanted to say. He was unarmed and unafraid, teetering on the precipice, hoping - praying - to be devoured. He would have allowed his throat to be ripped open, his entrails to tumble from his abdomen, for the Warrior of Light to feast upon his black guilt and tear him apart.

He had offered himself on a platter for the man to do as he wished, and he had simply scoffed.

(Was this his punishment? Was this all a joke to Hydaelyn, the damned god he had spoken crudely of for years and years?

He was being forced to stay, and that felt like agony when all he wanted was to drown.)

Gaius said nothing. He pinned his gaze on the smaller man once more, half a challenge and half weary, a wordless plea to reconsider.

With a heavy breath, he nodded just once, and took his leave of the Warrior's tent.

@daizure

[sylviareviar]

Tell me all about your palace, I'm totally not in disguise to get details to use for an upcoming starter.

Oooh, sneaky are we? Well, alright! First off, Sylvia's Palace is called the Church of Terror, because, well, she's terrified of literally everything. Just a warning; it's pretty gorey, so hang tight, my anonymous friend. It's a culmination of not only her childhood trauma being trapped in a Russian syndicate (she was rescued at 8 years old and is in a loving family now, but the events of that escape will be more clear in her Palace, also that's how she learned how to speak Russian), but it's also a result of her being gaslit by certain adults and peers.

The keywords for Sylvia are her name, Church, and Shujin Academy. This isn't because she associates Shujin with her past traumas, but because in my headcanon of how the Metaverse works, a ruler can't be too far away from their Palace. In her farming village, either her old school or the household she was rescued from would have been the location of her Palace. But she's in Japan now, so it's simply migrated to the place where she spends the most time.

On the outside, the Church is on a small sandy island being lapped with shallow waves. Everything in this world is monochrome, and the world is slightly submerged in water (and also a little bit warped, since Sylvia's sense of direction is a little bit garbage). However, being outside is one of the worst possible sensory experiences in this Palace, because it is perpetually storming a torrential downpour with whipping, slashing winds, and you can hear millions of voices all at full volume, loud claps of thunder, the high-pitched squealing of trains braking, automatic voices, etc. etc. And all of this is a representation of Sylvia's sensory overload at living in a city for the first time.

The Church itself is completely monochrome, save for the dried blood on the floor here and there, the bloody handprints and handwriting in different languages on the walls, and, in the main entrance, a series of tattered American flags hanging on the pillars. Now, Sylvia isn't religious; this Palace is not actually a reflection of her understanding of religion, but rather her lack thereof. She doesn't go to church; she despises gods, and a lot of her trauma has been caused by people who act "in the name of God".

That being said, the Shadows themselves here ARE Gods. These Gods are gluttonous beings that constantly ask for more and more of Shadow Sylvia, an angelic priestess who serves them. Rather than treating her as the priestess, though, Shadow Sylvia is considered The Offering--not even a real person--and the Gods (draped in Greek-looking robes, because again, Sylvia doesn't have an accurate understanding of religion) each have ceremonial knives with which they can tear off parts of Shadow Sylvia to keep for themselves.

The rituals here in the Palace involve the Gods taking an "offering" from Sylvia simply by telling her to do so. The most common ritual is stealing her feathers, or even her entire wings, leaving bloodied marks on her back. Sometimes they gouge out one eye at a time, and at other times, they steal her limbs, like her hand or ankle, or anything else. No matter how Shadow Sylvia hobbles or limps, she is still devoted to the Gods, determined to give them everything she has lest she commit the ultimate sin of Selfishness.

This is a common trauma that hurts a lot for someone who can't advocate for herself like Sylvia, and often people ask things like "Is it so hard to do this?" or "Please, just this once?" and it isn't just once. These manipulation tactics work very well on Sylvia, and she runs herself ragged as a result. This has led to her clinging a little too tightly onto the first person who shows her kindness, and then immediately tearing herself away again, thinking she's being selfish and preventing herself simple pleasures in life.

That being said, her Treasure has to be something important to her; something she can't live without, as it is the embodiment of all of her desires. That Treasure lies beyond a permanently locked door that can't be opened unless you convince Sylvia she's worth loving. If our muses have built up a romantic relationship, Sylvia's love of all things cliche and fairy tale call the key to opening this door "True Love's Kiss" (it doesn't actually have to be a kiss, but more than likely, if your relationship with her is romantic, the only way to convince her she's worthy of love is to claim you feel the same way about her). However, if you and her do not share that bond, there are other ways you can convince her. For example, by being observant, you can take notice of the little things she does and tell her those things alone are worth being loved for, or talking to her about her family or listening to her about other things. We'd probably have to actually talk in DMs to figure out the specifics of that, though, since I haven't fully thought through how it works with someone who isn't a romantic partner yet, only that it needs to be able to work without the need for romance as well.

This Treasure, the Holy Scriptures (which is actually some of her old "cringe" middle school drawings in disguise), is locked down past the Saint's Wing. The Saint's Wing is lorded by a secret rebellion, and depending on who Sylvia's RP partner is, chances are they will be the cognitive Saint in her cognitive, shiny, beautiful basement. Depending on who the Saint is, the Saint's Wing takes on a new form, and it's only glittery and beautiful when Sylvia or her Shadow are NOT present, taking on a dull, decrepit, bloody disguise anytime she walks inside. It only blooms to life when she isn't there, a sign that she doesn't "deserve" to bask in the glory of the Saint's Wing, a representation of her own hope.

Speaking of Hope, whoever opens Sylvia's "door to her heart" ends up forging Hope in the form of a malleable weapon. By default, it is a glowing, burning, razor-sharp sword. However, it can take on the form of whatever its wielder (and the only people who can wield it are people Sylvia trusts with it, including the forger and herself) chooses. For example, in Discord, the-flower-karasu and tvstarkuma and I have been RPing Sylvia's Palace with Teddie as the wielder of Hope, and it transformed into a set of claws for him to best utilize.

Hope is the only weapon that can save her. The reason it is a weapon is because Sylvia is afraid of it. It is dangerous. Hoping can lead to one's downfall just as much as it can lead to their growth, and she's too afraid of being hurt by hope again to think of it as a blessing. It all depends on who wields it.

In the final battle, the Gods you fight are invincible. They block all attacks, drain physical and Almighty attacks, and reflect Bless attacks. Not only that, but they take Shadow Sylvia hostage and force her to heal them if they ever do somehow take damage. The only thing that can harm them and free Sylvia is Hope, but beating them would be impossible, because Sylvia's cognition says it is. Her Shadow boss form also becomes grotesque and broken, and she's dangling and bleeding constantly, her angel wings hatching into gigantic blue butterfly wings.

These butterfly wings slowly turn red, section by section, as the Gods drain power from her. They also can speed up the process at which she slowly dies, by forcing her to heal them or cast spells. Shadow Sylvia can use two elements when battling: Bless and Earth skills. Earth is measured in Tera. So the order of the spells goes Tera, Matera, Terazi, Materazi, Teradyne, Materadyne. And yes, I found the names on the SMT website; technically this is somewhat legal. I think. If Shadow Sylvia's butterfly wings fully turn red, she dies. In other words, the final battle is on an accelerated time limit with her life on the line. (The time limit for Sylvia's Palace is also with her life on the line. I imagine the Phantom Thieves discover Sylvia's Palace towards the end of summer, just before school starts, and after Futaba's Palace, and Morgana estimates "At the rate her Shadow's going, I wouldn't be surprised if she has little more than a few weeks left. Let's say two weeks, to be safe." And that sets the time limit for Sylvia's demise. Her death doesn't mean a game over for the Phantom Thieves, but it does permanently make her unplayable and weigh heavily on their conscience if they knew her well. At least, if I thought of this as a video game.)

Anyway, any damage Shadow Sylvia takes becomes present in Sylvia's body, usually through her nervous system (which is connected to her brain) but sometimes through others. For example, if the Gods stole Shadow Sylvia's voice, all of a sudden, Sylvia's vocal cords would no longer work properly and she'd sound like she was whispering, her voice nowhere to be found. Or if the Gods sliced off her hand, she would lose circulation in her hand until the Gods restored it again through some gracious blessing.

Finally, the motivation for Sylvia's Shadow. I mentioned earlier that she desperately wants not to commit the deadly sin of Selfishness, but there's a little more to it than that. Truthfully, she wants people's acknowledgement. She serves the Gods in the wish of hearing words such as "You're such an angel," or "you're so kind," or anything else. These affirmations are what keep her going. However, coming from the Gods, they have lost their healing potency, and while once they would have been enough to completely cure Shadow Sylvia's wounds, because she feels gratitude which makes her feel good for doing something nice, instead, she feels the bare minimum acknowledgement. This happened slowly over time, and it won't be long before thanks are completely ineffective, and will effectively kill her.

It's a very dark Palace, but I've done a lot of thinking about it, and I think it's something others might be able to relate to, as well. Especially in families that say "family comes first," and it becomes impossible for you to take care of yourself because of your family's expectations.

Sorry for rambling that much!! I hope this helps?

[atrocitahs]

extremely dark topics including: body horror, suicide attempts, gore/blood below the cut.

There's an unfamiliar pain in their sides. It's almost as if there's something alive stirring in her ribs. Bones shift and stir within Ramsey's body. If you looked closely while this was happening, you would think there was some sort of alien creature inside of her body. Pain tears through them, a unique and horrifying sort of agony that is indescribable.

Ramsey's whole skeleton seems to be shifting, evolving for the new set of arms to grow in. It's a slow process. One morning, she wakes up with the bed soaked in blood and bits of flesh. The arms are nowhere near fully grown. They're about the size of an infant's and can't be controlled, just dangling there. She can't tell anyone about this. It's so incredibly painful that hours are spent writhing on the floor of the bathroom, vomiting and passing out every so often. And what about hiding them? How the hell was she going to hide a whole new set of arms? The fear gnaws at the edges of their brain, slowly sending Ramsey into a spiral. God, it fucking hurts. Maybe she should just kill herself and spare the suffering.

And they nearly do, sitting on the top of the apartment building, legs dangling off the edge, considering it. But it's Ben who catches her before she falls off, pinning them to the ground until she finally calms down.

Things seem to get better after that. Ben helps her deal with the pain of the new arms and consistently checks in with Ramsey, ensuring that they don't attempt anything anymore. She gets a therapist and attends regularly. With time and empathy, she soon becomes accustomed to the new appendages and even is able to do more than she could have ever imagined with her new powers.

[shriketimes]

thursday september 29th, 1988

Yesterday afternoon there were several incidents at the end of summer carnival celebration – resulting in the injuries and unfortunate deaths of multiple people. The carnival was immediately shut down, and much to our towns dismay, the fireworks display was cancelled entirely. Mayor Sweeney has refused to comment during these difficult times, feeling rather devastated by the attack. A representative has come forward to say that the Shrike Heights council has done all that they could this year to prevent another incident. Further preventative measures will be taken to ensure that future Shrike events are safe and enjoyable for our residents. Police have said they still have two perpetrators in custody and that they are currently being interrogated about the attack. If you have any information, please contact the Shrike Heights Police Department.

wednesday september 28th, 1988

The last of the summer sun shines down upon the residents of Shrike Heights warmly. Summer has come to an end, but the brightness of the day hasn’t yet changed and become clouded over in typical fall fashion, and this is particularly true as the sun shines its hottest and brightest in the middle of the day, at the busiest time for the carnival. More than just Shrike Heights residents are enjoying the last day of the end of summer carnival; residents from the smaller surrounding towns, those only around for business or loved ones, and the few people who pass through Shrike Heights on this day enjoy it too. The grounds are chaotic yet the most at peace Shrike has felt in some time; those only in town temporarily would never realise just how much trauma this place has seen previously. 

Screams of joy, of exhilarating fright, children’s laughter and friends speaking enthusiastically to each other mix with the sounds of various sources of music and effects coming from rides and stalls containing carnival games. It’s an overstimulating environment, but the energy is upbeat, exciting and joyous. It’s place to be, which is why so many people find themselves there. 

Amongst all of the carnival goers are Chandler Kolinsky and Naomi Yamada. They stand together in line for the tallest, most terrifying roller coaster that comes to town with the carnival each year, and already their nerves have kicked in. They watch as the riders who’ve just finished their turn disembark the four person cart, one looking queasy while the rest are laughing loudly, though shaking from the adrenaline rush. Chandler and Naomi step up onto the platform; they expect two more to follow them, but those behind them tell the ride operator that they’ve counted and have an even number for their entire friend group to go over the course of the next couple of runs. Chandler and Naomi are escorted onto the ride alone. 

At the peak of the roller coaster, you can no longer see the track, the riders, or their cart while standing at the bottom. The sun is too blinding, and there are too many support beams and different sections of the ride that obscure the highest point. The only way you know riders have made it up there is by listening for the screams. Up there, the ride slowly rolls across a flat section, and the cart stops while just dangling off the edge. After a moment too long, the cart finally drops and the riders always scream as they rush down the steepest decline. They always scream. Waiting to embark, being unable to watch and only able to hear in preparation of riding it is the most nerve inducing part.

With the support bar pulled down across the laps of Chandler and Naomi, they’re off. The ride is fast and thrilling all the way up to the peak; twists and turns jolt their bodies around, and screams - more of amusement than fright - already leave them before they even reach the top. Adrenaline is already pumping through their veins, and their knuckles are white from gripping the bar too tightly once they do reach the top. Their cart rolls slowly towards the edge; they try to catch their breath, though the anticipation of rushing down the next section of the tracks hardly allows them to. They stop; the nose of the cart hangs over the edge. They don’t move; they wait. They’re patient, but then the wait becomes worryingly long.

“Something’s gone wrong.” Naomi observes, speaking in a breathless voice, and Chandler agrees with a nod. The wait is always timed the same, the screams are always heard like clockwork, but that point has now passed. Understandably, being stuck at the top is less than ideal. They’re confused, and fear is creeping up on them, too. They both go to speak at the same time, but then they’re both interrupted at the same time. 

The sound of a loud thud coming from behind them is what cuts their words short. They feel frozen with fear, unable to look behind them to find the source. Is the reason why they’re stuck up there a fault in the ride? Could that fault potentially be fatal for them? The thudding noise is followed by more. Thud, thud, thud. It sounds over and over, at a steady pace, on near perfect beats. Naomi and Chandler finally brave it enough to look behind them, ans somehow, what they find is worse than their fears. The Bear has pulled themself up onto the track, and they’re slowly walking towards the cart.

The bear takes their time walking towards their victims, as if they’re taunting them, enjoying watching their panic. Chandler and Naomi scramble to pull at the bar across them, hoping to lift it up to get free, and while they do so they share an unspoken thought; even if they get the bar up, where do they have to go? This thought only worsens their attempt to get out as they both panic harder simultaneously. Though their panic works in perfect sync, their attempts at lifting the bar do not. They push and pull at the bar at different times, rendering each other’s efforts moot.

They have no time to waste, so Chandler takes charge. “Count of three, we pull upwards.” She decides, and Naomi nods. “One, two, three.” There’s no breath taken in between numbers, and she isn’t counting with the timing of proper seconds, but it works regardless. The two pull with all of their strength, and it lifts to make a gap large enough for them to slip through. “Slide out, upwards, as quickly as you can so when you drop the weight-” Chandler can’t finish her sentence in her panic, but Naomi understands. She needs to get out quick enough so that when she lets go, Chandler won’t have to hold it up alone for too long, risking dropping the weight on Naomi and injuring her. 

Naomi might have otherwise offered Chandler to go first, but they don’t have time for politeness. Chandler understands, she won’t be coming out of this bitter - that is, if she comes out of this at all. Naomi’s trying to not think about that reality as she follows orders and she squeezes out of her trapped position desperately and awkwardly; her hands grow sweaty as she pushes herself up even higher to get out. She faces the bear, trying to not look over the edge, but it isn’t any better to look their way; they’re growing closer.

She watches their movements, scanning the track underneath them, not because she’s neglecting to help Chandler, but half because she’s stuck by her fear and half because she wants to gain the advantage by mapping their way out. She notices that the bear moves so slowly because the track has an abundance of holes in between beams and rails, though she still believes they’re intentionally trying to act menacing, too. Knowing that the killer is also vulnerable so high should be more reassuring than what it is. “A ladder.” Naomi says suddenly, the second her eyes spot the maintenance ladder running down a support beam. This is slightly reassuring, though their chances of making it out alive still feel slim. 

Naomi’s mind races, making it feel like she stands there for aeons. In reality, not even a minute passes before Naomi squats on her seat, turning to the front again to help Chandler hold the beam up. Once Chandler slides out, they both stand in their seats, and they both hold on for dear life. “I see it.” Chandler tells her, talking about the ladder, her voice shaky as she’s so much more afraid now. “We need to get to it before they do. We can’t-” an intense fear that can be heard in Chandler’s voice. “We can’t hesitate.” Or else they might die, she thinks, but she doesn’t elaborate. Instead, Chandler moves forward, climbing over the seat back and onto the seat behind her. Naomi is mortified watching her. 

Chandler is determined to not let this be the end of her. She always has been a stubborn person, but she refuses the likely fate now more than ever. The killers can’t keep winning, not after they’ve taken people like Dakota from her. She sets her feet firmly on the tracks behind the cart, and her body wobbles as she’s hit with a gust of wind that she’s no longer protected from by the cart. Despite knowing that she cannot hesitate, she does. The wind takes her breath away and her fear makes moving impossible. After a beat, she finally steps forward as cautiously as possible. She can’t see the ground beneath her through the gaps, and that terrifies her more than if she had seen the height she’s at. 

The second Chandler begins to move, the second the bear speeds up, the two at an equal distance from the ladder. Despite being at the carnival, it’s clear that the bear is not playing games. 

Too close to be able to use their weapon, the bear opts to lunge towards Chandler. She ducks, just able to avoid his grip by a split second. She pushes herself by reaching out towards the ladder. Her fingertips make contact with the top of the beam that the ladder runs down. She’s terrified; she looks down to the ground and this time she can see it clearly. She can see that from this height, a fall would be fatal. Terrified is no longer a word strong enough to describe her feelings.

Again, Chandler knows that she can’t hesitate, but again, she does. She’s too far away to pull herself to the ladder safely, she’s scared, but then suddenly the feeling is replaced by pain as the bear kicks her under her chin, sending her body flying backwards. Her head, shoulder and arm dangle off the side of the track. She’s not knocked unconscious, though she feels close to it, the feeling familiar from her time as an athlete. It’s almost a good thing that she’s so disoriented from the impact as it’s the only thing stopping her from spiralling over the realisation that she was almost kicked over the edge.

Fortunately, Naomi is still fully conscious, though it’s also unfortunate as she’s able to fully understand the severity of what happened. She’s afraid of nearing the bear, but she’s even more afraid of letting Chandler succumb to the attack. She makes it onto the track behind the cart. Chandler sits up, her body trembling, and she reaches out for Naomi. Naomi rushes towards her, and she takes her hand, but then the bear reaches them and they stomp on Chandler’s chest in an outward direction, sending her off of the ride. Both victims scream, sure that Chandler is about to meet her death.

Her hand slips from Naomi’s, but Naomi doesn’t give up. She reaches down, grabbing Chandler’s ankle just before it’s out of reach. The momentum due to the force of the kick is too great, and though Naomi pulls Chandler towards her with all of her strength, she loses her grip and Chandler falls. “No!” Naomi sobs. The fear of the height hasn’t left her, but she lunges towards the edge, as if she can still reach out to save Chandler. Part of her wishes she didn’t. She watches as Chandler’s body hits beam after beam as she falls, it’s brutal. Naomi goes to pull away, not wanting to witness the death, but just before she does she watches Chandler land harshly on a horizontal beam. 

Her back smacks into metal, and she lands. The breath is knocked from her, her head hits the beam, the skin splits, and she’s knocked out. Naomi is even more afraid now, knowing that Chandler is alive and that she’s the only one who can try to save her right now. She also knows that statistically only one victim will be lucky enough to be caught by the ride rather than falling to their death. There’s no way Naomi will survive if she’s sent off these tracks.

The bear straightens up, as does Naomi, but the bear is the one to make the first move. They take a step towards her, then another, and then just as they’re about to be within reach, their foot in mid air, the two of them hear Chandler shout with a voice full of jagged and pained breath. “Naomi!” The killer falters. Unlike Naomi, they hadn’t seen Chandler land, they were under the impression that they had successfully killed her. Perhaps they should pay closer attention next time.

Though riddled with fear, Naomi recognises an opportunity and she knows she needs to take it to survive. She jumps forward, using her side to shove the bear with all of her weight. Her intention is to get them down and out of her way, to buy time to get to the ladder and begin descending; Naomi doesn’t plan on pushing the bear over the edge of the ride, but the bear’s foot falls into a gap between beams on the track and they trip. They’re sent off of the edge, and unlike Chandler, they don’t meet any metal on their way down.

Naomi gasps. After putting her whole weight into the shove, a move that makes her feel like she’s in a round of high stakes roller derby, she lands on the track harshly, eyes wide in the direction the killer fell from. Her body feels bruised and she lands on her wrist in a painful, twisted way, but she’s more shocked by what she’s done than anything else, so the pain barely registers. Her gasp of shocks turns into gasping for a breath. Despite being unable to breathe, she pulls herself up, not wanting to spend a second longer there. 

She gets to the ladder and she begins to climb down; as she does so, the pain begins to register, and she’s sure that her wrist is sprained, if not fractured, as she can’t put her weight on it. Chandler replaces the thoughts of her pain once she reaches the level she’s at. “Stay there, I’ll come get you.” Naomi tells her, worried that the impact will have made Chandler’s head spin; the last thing they need is for Chandler to fall on her own accord and meet her end that way. Naomi crawls across the beam, thankful it isn’t a trickier route and only the one to cross, and she helps Chandler back to the ladder. Together, they climb the rest of the way, which is something neither of them thought they would be able to do. 

As they walk they lean on each other, though mostly Chandler on Naomi. They make it to the ride’s control area; there’s no operator. Worried that more animals might be around, they don’t linger in the area. Intead, they head towards the exit, feeling alien amongst so many unharmed, neither of them having the ability to speak about what they just went through. 

Closer to the exit of the carnival, Loki Romanov doesn’t expect such troublesome behaviour to be happening already, not in the light of the early-fall day and definitely not at the very top of the roller coaster that the blinding sun blocks her from viewing properly. Thankfully she’s safe from the bear’s antics, her feet firmly on the ground. The last thing that Loki needs is more pain inflicted upon her, not after all she’s endured in the past.

The last day of the carnival is extremely busy, yet at the same time, Loki feels entirely alone as she walks through the grounds, feeling like she’s the only person in all of Shrike Heights who isn’t queuing for a ride or throwing balls at milk bottles to knock them down. She isn’t entirely sure why she’s there at all - finding carnival games incredibly irritating as she isn’t particularly good at them. The carnival is so loud all around her, yet as she walks down a clear path she feels as though her space is strangely peaceful and quiet.

This is, until she hears a whistling sound through the air only seconds before a sharp, intense pain strikes her side – the one opposite the scars left by the last attack she endured. She gasps for a breath and turns to find her attacker just in time to allow the next throwing star to wedge itself deep into her thigh. She can’t help the groan that escapes through gritted teeth as the blood starts to soak into her clothing.

The Mouse stands a little ways away from the doctor on the path. Despite being in broad daylight, no-one around them blinks an eye at the colourful costumed display. She sees them take yet another throwing star, spinning it between gloved fingers.

Having been through this before, Loki runs. She knows that she’ll be able to tend to her injuries when she’s safe but knows all too well that she must prioritise getting to safety first. She runs, the extreme pain growing worse as with every movement of her muscles the throwing stars lodge themselves further into her flesh. Blood drips down her body, seeping into her clothing as she tries to make her escape. She doesn’t stop until she finds a corner to turn down, and once there, she immediately rushes over to a game where teenagers are throwing darts at balloons in hopes that they pop. She slides between two games and hides behind that one, hoping that the noise of the popping balloons will help shield any noises that she might make while tending to her wounds.

Assessing the damage, Loki properly notices now that the stars have dug deeper into her flesh, particularly the one lodged into her thigh. The design of the weapon seems to be intentional, with the sharp knife migrating inwards with movement. Unlike typical stab wounds, she knows she has to remove the weapons to prevent further injury. Ordinarily, the knife would stay in the wound to prevent blood loss, but blood loss seemed like the better of the two options.

With everything being time sensitive, Loki has to try to act fast. Having no real first aid on her, she begins by taking her stockings off, carefully manoeuvring the fabric over the throwing star stuck deep in her thigh, carefully moving her body in a way that does the least to the star in her side. Once off, she rips the fabric of the stockings in half and she throws them over her shoulder so that they sit there as she gets to work.

She pulls the star out of her side, groaning with pain and cursing quietly in Russian, then she immediately reaches for one leg of the stockings to wrap around herself. It’s not an ideal piece of fabric, but it’s the best she has to offer herself right now. She knows it should buy her some time before she gets proper assistance or her hands on a real first aid kit. It’s more painful pulling out the star in her thigh; this wound is severe, the star dug in deeper, the gash is larger, the blood seeping out faster. She makes quick but painful work of removing it, throwing the star to the ground and even faster than before moving to wrap it up to prevent bleeding as much as possible.

She needs a moment to collect herself. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply as pain shoots up her body, causing her to feel an intense dizziness. Despite her last injury being more life-threatening, this seems to hurt so much more. She takes a moment longer before she finally straightens up, slipping back out from behind the stall and walking with as much strength and speed as she can, hoping to make her way to the exit.

Loki’s plans however, are changed the very second she spots Florence Quint walking along the path. Though her fear before had been replaced with frustration and pain, it returns quickly at the sight of the red-haired woman, and her breath catches in her throat. She’s not sure if it’s because of the shock her body is under because of her injuries, or if it’s because she’s found Florence. 

With no idea where the mouse is, Loki makes her way to Florence, gripping her forearm and tugging. “Quickly - you need to leave,” she says sternly, straight to the point with no greater explanation, “Come with me.”  

Florence usually would have been a little more relaxed with her despite her frustrations, but their last encounter had rightfully left her feeling bitter. “First you want nothing to do with me, and now you’re being all demanding,” she spits, pulling her arm from Loki’s grasp and taking a step away from her. She realises now that her arm is covered in blood. She takes time to examine the other, and the second she registers the state of Loki, her entire demeanour changes.

Loki takes her arm again, pulling her along the path to the nearest exit, but a figure on the path ahead makes Loki stop in her tracks. Their way out is blocked by none other than the Dog. Pieces of the articles that Loki had read about the attacks that took place last year in the grocery store, and then later at the carnival’s closing event, flash through her mind. It all clicks. She can’t believe that everyone is walking past the masked individual as if they’re simply a part of the carnival fun. How can no one else remember? How is she the only one to realise?

“We have to hide,” Loki instructs. In the seriousness of the moment, Florence is obedient, following. They rush as quickly as they can with the state of Loki. The dog doesn’t move to follow them, but they worry where the rest of the animal killers are hiding. Loki spots the tunnel of love with a sign out the front that reads, “BE BACK IN TEN.” She takes the rides vacancy as an opportunity, pulling Florence right into the ride, dragging her into the water. They might not be able to flee, but they still have the opportunity to hide.

“Do you really think we’ll be safe in here?” Florence asks, her heart beating so fast in her chest that she swears she can hear it.

“I don’t know - I can’t think straight right now, I don’t understand how these bastards are getting away with being out in the open in the middle of daylight. So… I don’t think anywhere is really safe,” she answers.

The two of them rush through the ride as quickly as the water on the ground allows them to, Loki’s hand tightly around Florence’s as if she might lose her if she were to let go. They rush past the sets on either side of the water-covered ground, past places that miss set pieces due to them breaking in the attack the year prior, others missing chips from the wood for the same reason. The two only stop when they reach an empty ride cart. They don’t have time to think about how odd the placement of it is, nor do they have time to catch their breath before their plans of hiding are foiled.

From behind the cart, the mouse jumps out. Having not been present for the attack at the end of the carnival last year, Loki couldn’t have known that the mouse has a job to finish, one they failed in the tunnel of this very ride the year prior.

They turn to run, Loki instinctively pushing Florence a little further forward, but the mouse throws their stars quickly, too fast for either to act to protect themselves. Two miss their bodies, one grazes Loki and falls into the water after the others, but two get Florence, one in the back, and one in the side of her thigh. Florence collapses forward into the water due to the impact and the sudden pain, and as she lands she cuts her hand open on the tracks that the carts drive upon. 

“Florence-” Loki reaches for her to try and help her up, but before she can take hold of her, the mouse has caught up. They grab Loki from behind, and with a strength that surprises her wholeheartedly, the mouse throws her body towards the stationary cart.

She’s thrown with such force that she feels immediately faint upon impact, and as her chest takes the worst of the blow, she feels a cracking and disconnecting that she’s sure is a break of the rib. She crashes over the cart horrifically, and upon landing on the ground she finds herself completely submerged in water. 

She’s under for longer than she should be, completely dazed, already exhausted because of her injuries, in so much pain and shock that she can’t move. Without so much as moving an inch, she stays under, slowly coming to. Once conscious enough, she notices the water ahead is clouding with blood, blood that is not her own. 

She gets back up, gasping for air, suddenly flailing her limbs and trying to ignore the pain. She comes up in time to see the mouse raise their arm and bring it down with a great force, stabbing Florence in the back with their stars, not once, but twice, and upon concluding the second stab they push her head underwater.

Florence thrashes and Loki is sent into a panic. Still not completely with it after being so injured and thrown around, her brain not receiving as much oxygen as it should be due to blood loss, it takes her mind longer than she’d care to admit to figure out what to do. Suddenly she dives under the water. Despite how difficult it is to see, she searches for the few stars that landed in the water, but she quickly begins to struggle. She comes up gasping for air multiple times, feeling dizzy and only getting worse, but she knows she has to succeed in this task. Florence has to be close to death, and Loki doesn’t stand a chance in a physical fight in her current condition.

Finally, Loki finds a star, but as she stands, she notices that Florence is no longer struggling. Her heart feels as though it could leap out of her throat. She’s terrified, but being a doctor, she knows that hope isn’t completely lost, and that she may still be able to save Florence - albeit with some difficulty.

She throws the star, and it’s lodged deeply into the mouse’s shoulder. Loki hopes this will send the killer away, but all it does is make them angry. They abandon Florence, her body floating lifelessly, and they step closer to Loki. They grab her by the shoulders and throw her into the water. If her rib hadn’t already been broken, it would be now. They hold her under as they did to Florence, but being face up, Loki has an advantage and is able to kick.

She’s exhausted, and in so much pain, but she kicks and she kicks until suddenly the mouse releases her, moving back. Loki sits up and coughs, her senses filling with the sounds of screams from two people who come into the scene on a ride cart. The mouse reaches for the next of their stars, only to realise that Loki has kicked them into the water. They seem frantic, but Loki stops watching them as she reaches for Florence. She’s unconscious, but she still has a pulse. There is still hope. 

The mouse is the first to flee, clearly unable to finish the job in the tunnel of love this year either, despite giving it a good attempt. Thankfully for the couple on the ride, they escape without a single scratch. Loki follows shortly after with Florence, carrying her body with arms that are weak but thankfully just strong enough. As soon as she reaches the exit, she allows herself one scream of agony before she places Florence’s body down and begins to tend to the woman’s injuries.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Loki says in an attempt to self-soothe, trying to convince herself that Florence just might be able to hear her. She pulls the stars from her back, wincing as she has to dig at the wounds slightly to pull them out. Considering her profession, she’s never been one to feel squeamish, but there’s something about it that sickens her. She then lays Florence on her back. She positions herself on her knees next to her body, and she begins to perform CPR. Loki’s entire body screams for her to stop, all of her injuries worsening, her head returning to that dizzy and faint feeling, but then Florence begins coughing, spluttering, coming back to her.

Loki gasps for a jagged breath, breathing being enough to hurt her chest a ridiculous amount, but even through the pain she continues to push herself as she turns Florence’s head to the side, helping her clear her airways to breathe properly.

Loki’s body slumps over Florence, but there’s still the matter of the star in her thigh. Loki knows she has pushed her body to the limit. She can feel her body fighting her, begging to rest, begging her to stop. She doesn’t. Florence is still gasping and coming to, but Loki reaches down and she begins to dig at the star in Florence’s thigh.

Florence is confused about so many things. She had hardly caught up to Loki’s situation before their shared attack started, and now she’s waking up with a foggy memory of what happened inside of the tunnel and an overwhelming situation unfolding on top of her. She’s dazed, and she feels a swell of sickness when she sees what Loki is doing.

The confusion mixes with sadness, but mostly an overwhelming pain is felt as Loki is in her wound, then pulling the star out. Florence tries to sit up, but Loki pushes her back down, perhaps too harshly for the wounds on her back. “Don’t move,” she slurs, her body inching closer and closer to unconsciousness. Breathing feels like something she has to do manually rather than automatically.

Loki’s state is deteriorating rapidly, she throws the star from Florence’s thigh onto the ground next to her, a mixture of Florence’s and her own blood dripping from her cut-up fingers. Florence’s vision gets blurry from tears, but she doesn’t need to see Loki to know what happens next, instead, she feels her collapse on top of her.

Over by the ferris wheel, Shrike Heights residents are witness to a strange sight, one that is thankfully much more pleasant than the sight by the tunnel of love. Joshua Sommer finds himself out at the carnival, despite being such a homebody who is typically reserved. To see him at a carnival that took place in a video game would make sense, but today he takes a break from his NES, playing the game of life instead - and no, not the board game. What might be an even stranger sight is his company in the form of Wilhelmina Reid. But as surprising as this may be, the pair actually make perfect sense together, and that’s evident to those around them in the line to the ferris wheel as they speak passionately of the latest issue of the New Mutants.

The conversation of the latest action packed comic book adventure continues as the two step into the carriage. The ride operator closes the door, and with a chuckle he tells them to enjoy their ride and to try to not fall out. The words are alarming enough to pause their conversation, though the look on the operator’s face tells them that this is a bit he does with every carriage he sends off. Neither rider is impolite enough to tell him that it isn’t funny. They smile at him and it seems to make his day, he pats the carriage twice before stepping back to his controls. 

The carriage has a roof to protect the riders from the sun, connected by beams in four corners to walls that start just above the average person’s waist when standing inside of the carriage. The door is shut by an old rusted hook lock, and none of it seems to be particularly well kept. In the large space between the roof and the start of the walls, there’s nothing, simply open aired windows, gaps for riders to peer out of in order to admire the views all around them. Unexplainably, Joshua and Billie both feel completely safe inside of the carriage, despite the shotty set up. They don’t return to their talk of comic books even after the operator has stepped away, as they instead both focus on the carriage jolting to a start.

The incline is always when the most nerves can be felt. It’s true that both riders feel safe inside of the carriage, but adrenaline still kicks in regardless as they get lifted so high above the ground, though slowly. Billie and Joshua happen to have more in common than an interest in comics; the two are both very tense individuals, so it’s not surprising that they fall into silence as they try to not let tense turn into anxious. They’re both here to enjoy the carnival, to catch a break from the town that has grown so sombre; they don’t need to ruin their own fun. 

It’s completely understandable for them to be anxious about being lifted up so high into the sky, but it’s also undeniable that the view is stupendous. The silence isn’t uncomfortable as the carriage is lifted up, higher towards the clouds. Instead, the inside of the carriage feels calm and peaceful. Billie and Joshua don’t express it aloud, but they don’t need to; they both think it’s nice to have found such peace in Shrike Heights. 

The ferris wheel slowly takes them around in one full circle, not stopping at all. The second time they go around, however, the ferris wheel begins to stop as each next carriage reaches the very top, allowing them all to enjoy their view (while also allowing people to get on or off of the ride from the very bottom). When Billie and Joshua’s carriage reaches the top, they share a look of wonder with each other before continuing to gaze out at their town. 

They peer out over the farmland and the commune, admiring the natural beauty, and then their eyes take them over the tops of hundreds of houses that lead them to downtown, where they can just make out certain businesses. They peer all the way over the length of the town until they notice the mall. It looks tiny from here, and the sight brings them great comfort. Finally their view ends with the mountains, all the way on the other side of town. The carriage begins to move back down as they both think about how they feel as high as the tallest peak on the mountain. 

“That wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be.” Billie admits, breaking the silence. While having felt safe, that didn’t mean that she felt no fear. Their carriage stops in its place not far from the top as the next one is given their time in the prime position, and then suddenly, their peace is broken by a piercing scream. Billie has spoken too soon, and both riders are sent into panic as they search for the source of the scream. They can’t find where it has come from, and a feeling of hopelessness joins their other unsettling feelings. They look around, then finally to each other with wide eyes that read the same horror. Joshua’s panic builds.

A body suddenly falls from the carriage on the other side of the one at the very top. Joshua is nearly hyperventilating. The body falls with such force, such velocity; it couldn’t have just been an accident, they must have been thrown. Joshua tries to deny the fact, he tries to reassure himself that there’s no threat, but Billie knows, and she can’t deny the truth. Instinctively, both Billie and Joshua hold onto the ride tighter, though there’s nothing they can do; they can’t run, they can’t hide, they can’t even get help for the victim of the fall. 

The carriage moves again, and now Billie and Joshua can see even less of the affected carriage; they're left out of sight, feeling utterly trapped. No words are exchanged, neither of them can find the ability in their states of shock, fear and panic, but the carriage isn’t silent as Joshua’s panic attack fills their space with the sound of his rapid, uneven breaths. Another body is thrown from the carriage that now sits at the very top, and Billie drowns out the sound of Joshua with a scream. Having been watching so closely for a sign that might tell them what has happened, she sees the body as clear as day, and they’re covered in blood. The scream of horror turns to screams of help, and those in the carriage between the slaughtered and the panicked join in 

Joshua feels as though he might be sick. He wishes to call for help also, but he can’t stop panicking enough to do so. He looks down, searching for the ride operator. Instead of the friendly man at the controls, there stands a different figure, one completely in red. Joshua would have thought they were a carnival performer if the trauma didn’t remind him of the events from last year; this has to be the work of the animals. “He’s not-” his words come out with great difficulty, he turns to face Billie, tears streaming from his eyes. “at the controls.” He finally finishes through a gasp. “No one’s going to help. No one can help us.” He doesn’t mean to make Billie’s state worse, but clearly panic has completely overtaken him now. 

Trapped, they watch as the carriage next to them begins to shake and swing uncontrollably as it descends. Its two passengers scream, and then a third figure is seen sliding into the carriage from the large gap in the side. Before Billie and Joshua can see anything else, the ferris wheel finishes repositioning the carriages and the one with the intruder inside of it is now above theirs. They’re blind to the attack, only able to hear the sounds of screams turning into grunts, along with the sound of squelches and the sound of metal hitting metal. It’s an overwhelming commotion, it’s incredibly intense, but then everything falls silent. 

Joshua is gasping, feeling so faint now, and Billie feels as though there’s not a single thought in her mind; she has no idea what to do, and the silence might feel worse than the audio of the attack they were just subjected to. She slowly leans closer to the edge of the carriage, moving with caution, her heart beating so hard that she can feel it rattle her entire body. She moves her head through the gap, and she takes a deep breath before turning it to look up at the carriage. Immediately, hot drops of liquid splatter her forehead.

Billie rips her body back to the centre of the carriage, standing up in the middle of it, causing it to rock slightly. She faces away from Joshua, not wanting him to see her as deep down, she knows what her face is now tainted with. She reaches up with both hands, swiping the liquid off with shaky movements, her breath frozen in her ches, and when she pulls her hands away to inspect them her fears are confirmed; it’s blood. 

Panicked, Billie wipes at her face quickly, pulling up her t-shirt so that she can use the fabric to mop it up. She wipes her hands on the shirt too, trying to make herself feel clean again, though she’s unsure if that’s something she’ll ever be able to achieve. Her panic builds and it builds, but she knows she can’t reach Joshua’s level; their chances of surviving will be slim to none if they’re both complete messes. This thought works to ground her and make her realise her next best move. She slides onto the bench seating next to Joshua, and she begins to busy herself by helping him. 

She doesn’t mention the blood, though it’s not unnoticed she only begins to rub soothing circles on his back, taking loud, deep breaths, encouraging him to match them. “It’s going to be okay, Josh, we’re in this together, we’re going to get help, I’ll help you, we can help each other.” She begins, trying to speak as slowly and as steadily as possible. 

With Billie’s help and reassurance, Joshua begins to get his breathing under control. He still feels like he may die before the killer even reaches them, and Billie is still afraid, too. In fact, hey’re terrified. It feels as though their carriage stays in this position for far too long, and it's horribly suffocating to feel so trapped when they know the inevitable attack is coming for them next. They’re sitting ducks.

The carriage begins to move again, and Billie lets out a yelp, holding onto Joshua tightly, thinking that the movement must be the killer. Foolishly, they both allow themselves to feel relief when they realise it’s only the carriage, heading to the middle of the ferris wheel, no longer being so far from the ground and an escape. The relief is destroyed brutally only moments later, however. 

Something heavy lands on the roof of their carriage just after the descent has once again temporarily stopped. They instantly believe it’s the killer, but then there’s silence once again. Their carriage rocks so hard from the impact that they hold on to each other and the ride so tightly, both for safety and for comfort, but then no more movement or sound comes. Slowly, the carriage steadies itself, and they’re not so sure it’s the killer.

“Oh god,” Joshua suddenly cries, having a morbid realisation. “Please don’t let that have been a body.” He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that when he opens them once again he’ll wake up from his horrific nightmare. A sinking feeling overcomes them both. Being trapped under a lifeless victim isn’t worse than a killer coming to get them, but as they believe it might be their reality, it’s still dreadful.

Suddenly, the Cat swings their body into the carriage, proving the two terrified individuals that their first instinct was right. Billie and Joshua both scream and cry, and they both jump up onto their feet despite the instability the swinging carriage provides and the fact that there’s nowhere to go. There is no escape; not even jumping is an option as a fall from this height would be far too dangerous, and potentially fatal. They try to move as far back as possible to avoid the cat and the bat with jagged nails sticking out of it, already completely drenched in blood, similar to the cat themself and to Billie’s shirt. 

The cat doesn’t waste any time. The carriage begins to move again, and the cat swings their bat. It makes impact with Joshua’s side, just narrowly missing Billie, and Joshua is thrown against the bench seating. He hits his head against the wall and he falls to the floor. While his injuries hurt, it’s a far better fate than being thrown to the ground, though being thankful that he hasn’t had it worse doesn’t cross his mind as the cat then rips the bat out of his side. All he can think of now is the excruciating pain. He screams, and his t-shirt begins to turn red with his blood. 

As Billie watches the cat’s callous actions, she can’t help but to scream in horror, though her scream swiftly turns into one of pain as the cat mirrors their attack and swings at Billie. The impact of the hit is intense, and Billie’s body falls down with so much ease that she resembles a ragdoll. She sobs as the cat pulls the nails from her flesh, her own blood now staining her already soiled t-shirt. 

Joshua stumbles back onto his feet, holding pressure on his wounds. Just as he finds his footing, the carriage comes to a stop. He’s not taking his eyes off of the attacker, understandably wanting to be ready to defend himself, even though he believes that nothing can be done to stop the brutality. The carriage jolts as it stops, and due to his attentiveness, Joshua notices that the cat almost loses their footing. They catch themself on the side of the carriage with relative ease before their stumble can become a fall, and as if to make up for their fumble, they immediately swing their bat again. 

They hit Joshua harder than before, not once, but twice, so both sides are now battered and bloody. Joshua’s body is sent in the direction of Billie’s, as she still stays crying on the floor, struggling to recover from the first blow, and Joshua has to scramble to avoid landing on top of her. In this attempt, he reaches out and he lands awkwardly on the bench, hitting his head and worsening the wounds in his sides. The head injury isn’t enough to concuss him, but it does leave him stunned for a beat. 

As Joshua lands, Billie pulls herself up, feeling guilt amongst all of her pain for causing him to have to avoid her in such a way. Thinking quickly, she jumps towards the killer, despite the fear growing worse than ever due to the close proximity. She does this as she figures that the cat will be unable to swing their weapon at her if she’s so close. It works as the cat head turns from Billie to Joshua, who now hurries to get back up, the killer no longer swinging at either of them. But this relief doesn’t last very long. 

The killer jumps back towards Joshua, and they swing towards Billie with such an intense force. They seem angered by the woman outsmarting them, and their anger is being translated into their next brutal blow. The nails on their bat are plunged into Billie’s stomach. She shrieks, her back harshly hitting against the support beam leading up to the roof. As the cat pulls the nails from her stomach in a manner that drags them through her flesh to create larger wounds, no more sound comes from her. Immediately her complexion turns pale, and her forehead beads with sweat. She reaches for the wounds to close them, but her hands are shaky and weak, and she can’t apply proper pressure. Blood begins to cover the entire bottom half of her. She’s sure this will be fatal.

The carriage begins to move again, and as the cat has put their entire strength into this swing of the bat, they stumble worse than last time at the sudden jerk of movement. Joshua feels light-headed and dizzy due to his lack of oxygen and the blood loss he’s already endured. He believes that Billie is dying right before his eyes, and the devastation he feels is just as strong as the fear. He’s overstimulated, so much is happening to him both in his body and mind, he doesn’t know how one person can feel all that he does in only a split second - but that’s exactly how quickly it all unfolds for Joshua. He’s gone through his devastation, his fright, his shock, his pain, his horror and his panic all before the killer can even regain their footing. In a rare act of bravery from Joshua, he uses this to his advantage. 

He pushes through the myriad of uncomfortable feelings, and he kicks the cat’s body with the most forceful kick he can manage. He gets the kick in just in time, and after the blow he screams in agony, falling backwards. His entire body hurts, his injuries worsening at his efforts, but the pain isn’t for nothing. The cat tries to catch themself on the support beam of the carriage with the bat they hold, unable to reach out in time to grab it with their hand, and all it does is cause the bat to be ripped from their grip. They flip backwards over the wall, frantically reaching for a piece of metal to catch themself on, and somehow, they succeed. With only one hand they hold onto the top of the wall, just where their body had fallen over, and though the grip seems weak it’s enough to save them from falling. 

Joshua’s panic is relentless; he’s not sure he has any fight left in him, and he’s sure that Billie doesn’t either, in fact, he’s surprised to see her still conscious, if only just. He begins to hyperventilate again. Once the killer pulls themself back up, they’re done for. The carriage jolts to a stop. Here we go. Joshua thinks. This is their chance to finish us off. But before the killer takes the opportunity to do so, Billie uses the last of her strength to pick up the fallen bat and swing it herself, plunging the nails into the killer’s hand. She drops to the ground, and the cat only remains as the bat stuck inside their flesh holds them onto the carriage. 

Stepping up for Billie, who begins to slip in and out of consciousness on the floor of the carnival ride, Joshua moves forward and he rips the bat from the cat’s hand. It’s the final act needed for the killer to fall to the ground. The carriage is no longer so high up; the killer can easily survive the fall, and while Joshua supposes he should feel relief over them being gone, he’s more afraid than ever. He feels so alone in this now, believing Billie to be on the brink of death, and he doesn’t know how to save them when the killer can easily wait for them down there on the bottom. He begins to sob, but as the carriage continues to move around closer to the ground he spots the cat once again. They’re not waiting, instead, they’re fleeing alongside their accomplice in red.

It’s not quite relief that Joshua feels, not in his state, but a level of hope can be felt. Once he gets off of the ride with Billie, he can get them help, and they might be able to live through this. He expects the carriage to slow at the bottom and then come to a stop. He’s ready to make his escape, but then the carriage doesn’t seem to be slowing. “Billie,” he panics, though she’s not conscious to participate in the conversation. “Billie it’s not stopping, Billie the ride isn’t stopping, I-” He cries harder. “I don’t know what to do.” He admits, feeling worse than completely useless. The carriage keeps going, past the bottom, back towards the top. 

He struggles to compose himself, but before they rapidly reach the top of the ride once again he pulls himself together just enough. He digs into his pockets, pulling a black bandana from one pocket and a - thankfully clean - plain handkerchief from another. As quickly as he can, he wraps the two pieces of fabric around Billie’s stomach, tying them together to make the entire length, and pulling them tight to try to put pressure on the worst of her wounds. It’s the best he can do. “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? Just stay with me Bill.” He cries, and as they begin their descent Joshua scoops her up in his arms, holding her bridal style. “Stay with me.” He whispers, mustering up all of his courage to make the jump when they arrive at the bottom again. 

He flicks the weak lock undone and he kicks the door open. Just as the carriage reaches its lowest, he jumps. He lands on his feet, and he’s surprisingly able to keep hold of Billie even as the pain from his injuries shoot so intensely throughout his entire body. Billie comes to slightly, crying in pain, but thankfully no longer seeming to decline in condition. The same can’t be said for Joshua. 

He puts her body down as gently as he can manage, and then he falls to his knees. He reaches for both of his sides, trying to apply pressure to his wounds, and though Billie has no strength in her she kneels beside him and she tries her hardest to help block the blood flow. “Stay with me.” She tells him, as if to say that despite her lack of complete consciousness, his efforts haven’t gone unnoticed or unappreciated, and as if to say that it’s her turn to take care of him now, even if she hardly can. 

The two are left crying together, bleeding out slowly. At least if this is the end of them, they had comfort in each other in their last moments. But this doesn’t seem to be the end, not just yet. Naomi and Chandler, who are fleeing from their own attack, spot the pair. Most people around the ferris wheel haven’t noticed a thing, all so focused on the rides they’re lining up for or the prizes that they’re trying to win. Naomi and Chandler, however, have had the joy of the carnival ripped from them, so of course they notice. 

They don’t need Joshua or Billie to explain what has happened, they’re able to make the correct guess, especially after spotting the lifeless bodies on the other side of the ferris wheel upon further inspection. Seeing the condition of the others, they don’t waste time inspecting the scene for too much longer. Despite their own injuries, the two coming from the roller coaster prioritise the gushing wounds on the others, and they do their best to help them not lose so much blood as they all head towards the exit, towards help, together. 

Further back in the vast carnival grounds Xena George, Philip John Bolton and Clementyne Spry stand together, surrounded by carnival games. The couple laugh at Xena’s ruthlessness as she’s not long finished beating a child in a game, and they laugh as she comes out of it bragging about how she ‘annihilated’ the poor thing; trust Xena to use the most dramatic wording for the situation. It’s only funny now as the woman gave the child her prize, though it can’t be said that PJ and Clementyne are thinking of such details or judging their bandmate as they’re focused on trying to enjoy themselves. 

None of them have even the slightest inkling that terrible things are happening at the carnival as they talk. Like almost all of the other carnival goers, they haven’t witnessed any of the atrocities that have taken place thus far as too many other events are happening on the showgrounds, demanding their attention over the victims’ pleas. Clementyne, PJ and Xena all have their own reservations, fears and worries about being at the carnival, but none of them would ever have guessed that things had gone south already.

“I might give the kids a chance to practice a bit more before I go back to it.” Xena laughs as they begin to discuss what to do next. The options are endless, as is the case each year the carnival rolls into town. PJ’s response is interrupted by the addition of Hedwig Blackwood’s presence. It’s a surprise to see someone less socially inclined there, and this is exactly why their presence captures all of PJ’s attention. It’s a nice surprise; PJ understands that Hedwig has been personally affected by the attacks in the same way as he, having people close to him almost lose their lives, so to see him not succumbing to the devastation of that really is nice. “We were just talking about what we want to do next.” Xena fills Hedwig in after initial greetings are spoken.

“Have you guys hit the carousel yet? I heard it’s a blast, really gets your adrenaline pumping.” Hedwig suggests this with a laugh, as if he’s joking, but the truth is that Hedwig wouldn’t mind heading over there. Rides such as the carousel, the ferris wheel and the teacups are the most adventurous Hedwig will ever be seen on, that much is guaranteed. He doesn’t actually expect any of the group to choose this suggestion out of all of their options, but it’s the best he can contribute to the conversation. 

Defying expectations, Xena seems into the idea. “You know, I actually haven’t, but how about you and I head over there?” She takes a step forward so that she stands next to Hedwig. “Give these two a chance to head over to the tunnel of love, or whatever.” She makes a joke out of why she wishes to split from the other two to get rid of any awkwardness that might have come from straight up saying that she thinks the couple should have adequate alone time together. Xena doesn’t wish to intrude, and without the company of Ottilie - and despite the company of Hedwig - it’s easier to feel as though she’s third-wheeling. 

PJ encourages Xena to go off with Hedwig. He loves all of his bandmates, but his relationship is of course different with Clementyne, so he’s not going to say no to Xena’s idea of splitting up. “Go on, get out of here,” he tells her, smiling. “Don’t go having too much fun without me, though.” The two pairs say their goodbyes with a little more laughter, and then they go their separate ways. 

As Hedwig and Xena walk, they talk about their days so far. Xena’s story is much more exciting, to be expected, as Hedwig has only just arrived at the carnival solo. The conversation quickly pauses when a seemingly endless amount of children begin running past them in the other direction excitedly. “Must be something going on over there.” Xena concludes, looking in the direction they’re heading to but not seeing what it is. It makes sense to Hedwig, as they know the last day of the carnival contains more excitement than any other, especially during the daytime for the children who are unable to stay up and watch the midnight fireworks.

“Perfect timing, no line.” Hedwig says as they notice the lack of busyness at the carousel, not complaining about the rush of kids now. Not only is there no queue for the carousel, but there seems to be almost no one even around it. “Which is good, because isn’t it kind of embarrassing to be going on this?” Hedwig asks, laughing to hide the fact that he already feels it, though Xena isn’t judging him. “Don’t people our age usually go on real rides?” It’s clear that Hedwig is self conscious, but Xena only responds by taking Hedwig’s hand and pulling him onto the carousel. 

One young person is getting situated on the ride when the two arrive, and they figure from the section’s emptiness that no one else is on it, not even on the other side where they can't see. Neither Hedwig nor Xena care to check as they instead climb upon a matching pair of pretend horses a few rows in front of that they’ve presumed is the only other rider. 

They’re laughing before the ride even begins. While Hedwig is encouraged, he’s still insecure, and it shows as he asks Xena if he looks ridiculous. “Not at all. You’re out here having fun, Hed, and that’s all that matters.” She smiles, reassuring Hedwig. She’s right; nothing else should matter right now, Hedwig should just try to enjoy the fun before the carnival is gone. It’s a nice change from regular life in Shrike Heights, and that’s greatly needed

Their laughter continues and only becomes louder as the ride starts. The horses bob up and down, loud music plays from overhead, and while it does feel a little silly, that only adds to the fun. Hedwig is thinking that he’s lucky, to have found himself actually having a good time, but only moments after he’s entertained the thought, he’s made to realise that he shouldn’t have gotten ahead of himself.

A commotion sounds from behind them, and their fun is ruined. After everything that has happened in Shrike Heights, a commotion is enough to evoke real concern and sheer terror. Two years ago it would have easily gone ignored, but not anymore. Hedwig and Xena turn just in time to see the other rider, now off of their horse and slouched over on their knees beside it, have a sword stabbed right through their neck from the back to the front. They choke on the sword, their misplaced innars, and their own blood, and as they do so a sick gurgling noise sounds. Their struggle doesn’t last very long. 

The Rabbit pulls the now bloody sword from their lifeless victim, letting their body fall forward, blood pooling around them as their struggle concludes. The killer’s real eyes can’t be seen behind the large, green rabbit head that they wear, but Hedwig and Xena both recognise their gaze as now being on them. They’re next. 

In too much shock and horror to even scream, the two jump off of their horses immediately. They turn and they begin to run, which is an odd sensation on a moving platform, a tricky feat as they have to avoid so many of the moving carousel horses, and perhaps a pointless move as the platform is a perfect circle. 

Due to the difficulty, Xena falls. She stuns herself by hitting her head harshly against the ground, and Hedwig immediately stops to help. He frantically reaches for her, and with a grip under her arms he pulls her back up onto her feet. He’s in a rush, as is Xena, though she physically can’t move for a moment due to the dizziness of her head. Hedwig understands, and he doesn’t leave her behind, even when the killer grows closer than ever. 

Xena comes to just in time for her and Hedwig to turn to the killer in sync, having seen them swing their sword and wanting to protect themselves. The sword swipes across in their direction and instinctively the pair hold up their hands to block the attack from being fatal, from slicing open an important artery or perhaps their organs. It makes sense in theory, though it feels like a dumb idea as soon as the victims earn matching cuts entirely across the palms of their hands. They recoil in pain, but are both in too much shock to flee again just yet.

The rabbit lifts their sword to strike again immediately, wanting to take advantage of the victims’ stillness, and Hedwig knows he has to do something. He’s lived through enough horrors in his life, he doesn’t need more bad experiences, and he definitely doesn’t want Xena to lose her life either. Desperate to end the altercation immediately, Hedwig holds his wounded hand in his other, and he kicks the rabbit away with all of his force. 

It buys them time, but not much. The rabbit stumbles but finds their footing again quickly. Xena turns to run first, struggling as the moving surroundings around them worsens her dizziness, but as Hedwig follows right behind her he reaches out to redirect and prompt her into the right direction as needed. 

The rabbit steps forward quickly, light on their feet, and they do to Hedwig what Hedwig did to them. Much like the other killers that have been seen at the carnival today, the rabbit seems bitter and angry for having been acted against. They kick Hedwig square in the back, and their body is thrown into one of the horses. 

The horse moves upwards as Hedwig falls down, making the impact worse, and causing his arm to slide into the stirrup on the side. His arm remains stuck in the small opening even as his body makes contact with the ground, and the force of the fall in addition to the weight of his body is enough to make his arm snap, a bone breaking. Hedwig screams. He unintentionally harms himself more as he tries to pull his broken arm from the stirrup, but it doesn’t budge.

The panic is intense. He’s gone and made himself a more vulnerable victim, he’s trapped, giving the rabbit the perfect opportunity to kill him quickly, but then the rabbit steps past him. Somehow, this fate feels worse than Hedwig being finished off. 

Xena screams loudly, but the angle Hedwig is stuck on doesn’t allow him to see what’s happening. He finally manages to free himself, and when he turns to find his friend he watches the killer finish slicing down her back, from one shoulder down diagonally to the hip. The cut looks deep, blood begins to drench her clothing already, and she falls to her knees in front of the killer.

Hedwig wants to stay frozen in shock, but instead he awkwardly pulls himself up with his one good arm and he rushes over to Xena. He grabs her quickly, and he pulls her up even faster. His body is in so much pain, as is Xena’s, but the two being on the same page allows them to mutually push themselves and each other in hopes of getting out of there. Hedwig is determined to save the pair, but he’s unable to succeed. Of course he’s unable to. 

The rabbit cuts across Hedwig’s side; he manages to stay on his feet sandwiched between the unstable Xena and the carousel horse. The two victims lean on each other for support, swaying back and forth slightly, and as they both know they can’t waste time they try to step away from the killer too soon. They take one wobbly step before the rabbit kicks Xena down. This time her head makes impact with one of the horses, and like Hedwig, she makes impact as the horse is moving upwards. The force immediately concusses her. 

Xena falls to the floor, losing blood and unable to move. Hedwig’s chest tightens as he watches in panic and fear, feeling hopeless and weak, feeling his side grow wetter and warmer with his own blood. He has no new plan, but he can’t do nothing, so he tries to once again buy them time. He kicks at the killer, aiming for their knee to hopefully send them to the ground. They don’t fall, but they do stumble and begin to double over, looking weaker than before. Hewig then takes the opportunity to throw a punch. He aims for their wrist, wanting to aim for a point that will be effective, and though the punch is weaker than he’d like, it’s enough to make the killer drop their sword. 

Hedwig groans in pain, first grabbing their side with their left hand to try to hold the wound closed, but they swiftly realise that they don’t have time to falter as the rabbit is immediately reaching for the sword. The punch was enough for them to drop it, but definitely not enough to do any real damage. With a bloody hand, Hedwig grabs Xena, trying his best to be gentle as he pulls her up again. She’s barely conscious, but is able to hold onto Hedwig as they move towards the edge of the carousel, stumbling together.

They have no other choice, and they both know it, even in their rapidly declining conditions. They have to jump to get away, and so they do. Having been stumbling just walking, they don’t land easily. Hedwig lands on his ankle awkwardly, taking most of Xena’s weight as she lands beside him, almost passing out as she does so. It causes him to fall to the ground, and with him, Xena goes too. 

Hedwig’s fall is nasty; the only hand he has able to catch himself is caught up in trying to support Xena, so his head makes direct impact with the ground. He grazes his cheek, and there’s an uncomfortable feeling added to the wound on his side as more blood spurts from it. Xena is able to catch herself better than her company, landing on her hands and knees, but the excruciating pain that shoots through her body causes her to once again almost lose consciousness. Despite the dizziness, faintness and the pain, Xena helps Hedwig up.

They hold onto each other for support, both sweaty and pale and sick to their stomachs, but they push themselves and they begin to run. They’re unable to move fast, but they still try their very best. 

The carousel’s ride operator hadn’t noticed the commotion; he’s been busy working his way through the day’s issue of Shrike Times the entire time the slaughter was happening in circles on his carousel. He notices now. He throws down his paper at the sight of the fleeing Hedwig and Xena, and he begins to shout for help. After everything that has happened and gone unnoticed both today along with the first day of the carnival celebrations, at the welcoming parade, it’s about time that someone other than victims notice something.

Hedwig and Xena don’t wait around for help to come; they keep going, they’re so afraid of being finished off by the killer. They don’t make it far. On a sprained ankle - and not to mention the rest of his injuries - Hedwig falls down again. He’s growing weak, his pain is too overwhelmingly intense for him to keep going, and unfortunately once again as he falls, Xena does too. One of the hardest parts about how injured he is is how he keeps letting Xena down because of it. 

Hedwig begins to cry. He can’t see the killer around them, but he doesn’t feel safe, and he’s expecting them to be trailing right behind them. Having fled immediately, albeit not very fast, Hedwig doesn’t know that the ride operator has called for help, nor does he know that the rabbit fled in the opposite direction the second that happened.

Hedwig pulls themself into a seated position. Their clothes are drenched with a mix of their own blood and Xena’s, and now tears fall onto the wet fabric also. The pain in their broken arm has surpassed just pain, now feeling a mixture of numb but somehow still sore, strangely. He pulls his arm into his lap, trying to straighten it out and crying harder at the action, and it’s then that he notices Xena has slipped into unconsciousness properly. 

Again, he’s crying harder. With his good arm, he pulls her limp body towards him, in between his two legs. He lets her wounded back fall against his front, and he reaches around her body, pulling her in close to try to put pressure on the wound. He sobs into her shoulder. Is this the end? Is he about to lose her? He’s distraught at the thought, but he’s not sure anything can save her now. 

In Hedwig’s mind, he takes all of the blame. He’s failed them both, he’s the one who suggested the carousel, and he’s the one who is still conscious yet unable to go further to get them any help. Xena is going to die in his arms. He holds her closer, tighter. He doesn’t want to have to miss her. As he feels his own condition deteriorating, he begins to hope that he doesn’t survive this attack, either.

After going their separate ways, PJ doesn’t expect to see Hedwig and Xena again so soon, but he does. He spots Hedwig and Xena as their attempt at fleeing fails, and it takes him a moment to register what is happening. He nudges Clementyne’s arm, “Clem-” though he doesn’t have time to finish saying her name before Hedwig collapses and pulls Xena into his arms. Clementyne turns to follow PJ’s line of sight and catches the scene herself as Hedwig begins to sob ferociously. They stand at a distance, but Clementyne can hear the cries regardless.

PJ feels weak with shock, and immediately he feels as though he’s being eaten alive by the guilt. Perhaps if he hadn’t encouraged Xena to go off with Hedwig, the group could have remained together, and they could have stayed safe. How could he have let more people close to him almost die? PJ carefully approaches and places a hand on Hedwig’s shoulder.

With his eyes filled with tears and his face buried in Xena’s shoulder, Hedwig doesn’t see PJ approach. He instantly believes the hand on his shoulder to be one belonging to the killer, so he jumps with fright, though only lazily. His body is weaker than he realised, his head spinning as he moves and his body continues to lose precious blood.

Both PJ and Clementyne are stunned, frightened by the sight. They’d never thought that such horrific attacks would happen in the middle of the day in such a crowded space. They’re unsure of the best move to make. There’s no way anything could calm Clementyne’s always busy mind now, but she’s easily the most qualified person of the four to help, and she knows this. She’s overwhelmed, horrified, fighting her own inner turmoil as she does her best to push forward and step up to help their injured friends, but she’s stopped.

The Bubblegum Twins come zooming onto the scene, skilfully skating circles around the group like a couple of vultures waiting for an animal to die. They immediately send the three conscious people into a panic. Being in the worst state, Hedwig feels it the most, his chest restricting, feeling like his body is crushing his own heart and lungs. As he was the one to take Xena away from the original trio, he feels personally responsible, and the last thing he wants now is for PJ and Clementyne to get themselves hurt trying to protect him. “Run,” he begs suddenly. PJ and Clementyne hesitate, looking at each other before looking back at the others. Hedwig repeats himself, his tone expressing his sheer panic, “Run!”

The killers are getting closer and closer each time they pass. It’s evident to the two standing residents that the bubblegum twins have their eyes on them, and not the two wounded on the ground. PJ doesn’t have much time to think, but he does for a moment. Last time the killers attacked the employees of the mall, his very own sibling was saved because of a similar plan. It’s the only thing that keeps him from dragging Hedwig and Xena after him. “Hedwig. Be careful, be safe, take care of her,” PJ tells him before ushering Clementyne ahead, wanting her to be as far away from the killers as possible.

They run as fast as they can. Despite the skaters being on wheels on slightly uneven terrain, they’re still much faster than the two on foot. Clementyne leads the way, running towards one of the bigger tents that is right on the path ahead of them. Just as she reaches the door of the tent, PJ suddenly feels something around his neck. He’s pulled to the ground by the pink bubblegum twin as the blue continues to chase after his companion, who hasn’t yet realised that PJ isn’t behind her. He hits his head hard against the ground, causing a harsh pain to pulsate through his skull.

PJ claws at what he now realises is a rope around his neck, as though he’s been lassoed like a calf at a rodeo. High-pitched laughter rings through his ears, causing his head to throb as he struggles to escape the still-tightening noose. Clementyne is out of sight, and he can’t help but panic, his breathing becoming laboured as he struggles to keep himself calm and collected. He’s still stunned from the collision with the ground, eyes seeing double as the killer reaches for his hair. With very little accuracy, he knocks her hand away with his forearm, clambering forwards and back onto his feet. He decides he’ll go around the tent, rather than through it – figuring he’ll meet Clementyne on the other side.

Clementyne moves sporadically enough that they manage to lose the blue bubblegum killer in the tent. Though they realise now that both PJ and the pink bubblegum killer are absent. Too scared to call for his attention, out of fear of bringing attention to themself, they try to calm their breathing as they look around the musty-scented, dark tent full of boxes and carnival supplies leftover from the parade. Just as they’ve almost managed to talk themself out of a panic attack, they hear something toppling over in the direction that they originally came from.

Terrified, she rushes towards the exit, dodging the boxes as she makes her way towards the sliver of light streaming through the crack in the tent doorway ahead. Before she reaches it, she’s caught off-guard by a sharp pain in her shins that sends her toppling over. It isn’t until she looks down that the pain really registers. Razor wire has torn her clothes and her skin, blood visible through the freshly torn holes in her jeans. Her mind races, but she has no time to go through every little fear that she has right now. She gets to her feet and bursts through the door.

PJ just reaches the other side as Clementyne emerges. Relief washes over him, until he sees her bloodied shins (which appear to be a lot worse than they actually are.) Clementyne is relieved to see him, a smile making its way to her face – believing that the two of them have escaped with minimal injuries. They both hurry towards one another, desperate for some kind of comfort and security after their ordeal.

“Are you okay?” PJ asks hurriedly, stumbling a little as he walks, still feeling uneasy due to the concussion. Clementyne doesn’t get the opportunity to answer him.

Before they reach each other, the killers appear again. At first, Clementyne believes they killer are going to skate right past them; the blue skater goes to pass her, and the pink skater, PJ, both seemingly paying no attention to their victims. That is, until both of them have their hair tight in angry fists, the couple being dragged off their feet and across the ground, in the opposite direction of one another yet again - before they even got the chance to properly reach each other. Despite kicking and screaming, neither of them are able to free themselves of such strong grips.

PJ is dragged behind several food carts, some of which are in operation and are busy preparing for the next wave of customers. The employees are far too busy trying to keep on top of things to notice the man kicking, and PJ’s screams blend in with the carnival commotion, which has become something akin to white noise to the cooks. Passing an empty stall, PJ manages to get a grip on one of the table legs. It doesn’t hold long, the table coming loose and folding in on itself, the business banner above it falling and landing on the killer. She lets PJ go as she tries to free herself from the material, groaning and grumbling as she frantically pushes her way out of it. Her victim clambers to his feet and manages to back up before she’s free again. 

At a safe distance, PJ takes a moment to think about where Clementyne might have been taken. He’s desperate to find her, his large eyes scanning their surroundings for any trace of her or her attacker. He grows more distressed with each second that passes without Clementyne, but he’s suddenly brought out of his deep state of concern as the killer is back to him. She’s reaching for something, and she acts before PJ can run.

Hot oil splatters over his arms, his skin turning red as it screams with pain. He uses his hands to try to flick the oil off himself, but it does nothing but irritate the severe burns. His eyes are full of tears – he can’t remember a time in his life in which he’s felt such terrible, terrible pain – and he hopes that he’ll never ever have to experience anything worse. He can only hope that Clementyne doesn’t have to, either. He turns to run with little idea of what direction he should flee, and the pink killer follows behind, catching up to him quickly.

Clementyne cries as they feel every little bump and rock that they’re being dragged across. They know that their body is going to be bruised and potentially scraped all over. They’ve lost sight of PJ, and their mind raced back and forth over the two horrific thoughts - what’s going to happen to me? What’s going to happen to PJ? She lets out another scream in an attempt to get someone, anyone’s attention, but the sound is met with the blue bubblegum twin lifting her up, giving her an expression that says very simply, “shut up, or I will shut you up.” The killer stares into her eyes for only a moment, and Clementyne shivers. There’s nothing behind those eyes. The gaze is cold and emotionless, and if souls existed, and a person could live without one - this would be an example of that.

Then there comes the sound of running, not too far away, that breaks the killer's attention. He lets go of Clementyne, letting her fall to the ground with a thud. The blue killer skates off in the direction of the sound, and when Clementyne slowly stands up and dusts herself off, she sees it. PJ with red hot skin all over his arms, some on his chest, looking greasy and dirty - and the pink killer hot on his heels. 

“Run, Clementyne!” He screams ahead at her. The last thing either of the victims want is to be kept apart for any longer, but Clementyne needs to flee now, or risk meeting a fate similar to PJ.

PJ doesn’t know what to do, the pink killer behind him, the blue killer in front of him. He skids on his feet, dropping to the ground and rolling beneath an empty table, putting some distance between him and the perpetrators. The pink nods to the blue, and she goes ahead to meet Clementyne, who has been unable to follow PJ’s orders in fear of them still being separated, while the blue twin takes care of the already-injured PJ.

Clementyne turns to finally run, but before they can, the pink killer resumes blue’s position, taking Clementyne by the hair and dragging them quickly through the dirt until they reach an area with a few unoccupied carnival games. Her clown-like face glances around the area, as though she’s pondering something. She exhales calmly, like she knows exactly what to do next. 

Approaching the Balloon Blast game, the pink killer seems to lift Clementyne with ease as she throws her over the counter. Winded from the impact, Clementyne struggles to get back to their feet - which gives the killer ample time to climb over. She grabs Clementyne by the collar of their shirt and slams them against the opposite counter, aligning their head beside one of the ridiculous clowns sitting there with its mouth open, waiting for the water to burst the balloon above its head. With her other hand, she points the pistol towards Clementyne’s face, pulling the trigger and watching the water blast into their mouth.

The blonde struggles to breathe, kicking and screaming and sputtering, water spilling all over herself and splattering all over the killer. She can’t catch a breath no matter how hard she tries to expel the water from her mouth. She tries to calm herself and take a big breath through her nose, but the intense splash of the water on her face just leads her to inhale more water. She alternates trying to breathe through her mouth and through her nose, all the while consuming more and more water. With a lack of oxygen, she falls unconscious. The killer remains relentless.

PJ brushes as much dirt as he can off his burns before scampering away from the bubblegum killer, who is struggling to climb over the table with his skates on. He runs until his lungs hurt, eyes examining the ground to see the tracks of Clementyne’s body being dragged through the rough dirt. He bursts into the area with the unoccupied games, and he sees the pink bubblegum killer’s assault, the water pistol still blasting Clementyne’s mouth with water. He screams and screams for help. 

The killer pauses, seemingly thinking about what she’s going to do. Finish the job and risk getting caught - or letting Clementyne slide for a chance of escape. She chooses the latter, dropping Clementyne’s body so hard that it shook her awake momentarily, water spilling from her mouth. She still struggles to breathe, not enough air getting into her lungs (she’s concerned for the amount of water that may still be in there.) The killer is nonchalant about the encounter, and she skates off in the opposite direction to find her brother.

PJ rushes over to her as Clementyne starts to cough and splutter, trying to hold her so that any water that comes up can be spat out easily - afraid that she might choke. She’s weak, struggling to stay conscious. PJ immediately starts to scream again. “Help! Somebody help! I need help!” he’s desperate for assistance, his entire body stinging and aching with pain, and his heart heavy with worry for Clementyne. “Try stay awake, stay awake until someone comes to get us,” PJ says in a panic, rocking her gently in an attempt to keep her awake as he starts to scream for help once more. 

This can’t be happening. After almost losing Soren, believing that he’s likely lost Xena, and possibly Hedwig, too, he can’t be losing Clementyne. His body trembles with fear, and with an overwhelming sadness. He keeps alternating between calling out for help, and speaking gently to Clementyne in attempt to soothe her in the moments she’s not totally gone. The more he screams, the more his throat hurts; he’s unaware of how brutal the bruising from the noose is, though he’s certainly aware of the pain. Paramedics don’t take long to find them, but by the time they do, Clementyne is completely unconscious again.

The ride operator of the tunnel of love is quick to get assistance for the two women who had emerged with severe injuries. Florence was close to unconsciousness herself, but as she lay and wait for help to arrive, she gently strokes Loki’s hair with an affection that might have brought her comfort if she were awake. With every last bit of her energy, she watches Loki carefully, seeing if she can catch her chest rising and falling.

Already on their way to the exit of the carnival, the quartet of carnival attendees, Joshua, Billie, Naomi and Chandler, arrive on the scene. The four of them are relieved, to see that professional help isn’t so far away after all. Naomi and Chandler make a scene, waving their arms and calling out for the paramedics as they guide Joshua and Billie to be seated. Once the four of them are sitting and can catch their breath, they feel hopeful. Though their pain and their struggles are far from over, they know they’re going to make it through another day. Exhaustion sets in amongst all of them.

Billie leans on Joshua, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths through the pain, which he seems to echo. Chandler and Naomi immediately return to tending to Joshua and Billie’s wounds, putting pressure where needed in order to prevent more blood loss while they wait for assistance. Chandler’s eyes begin to feel heavy, and she struggles to stay awake once she’s sitting. Naomi gently nudges her leg with her foot every so often. “Stay awake. You hit your head pretty hard. You have to stay awake until you get help, okay?” Naomi says. Chandler doesn’t have the energy to nod, but she understands.

It isn’t long before paramedics hear more cries for help, so they call for immediate backup.

Eleanor Almeida is having a much better day at the carnival today compared to several days earlier. Today she’d managed to convince a friend to come with her, which made the carnival games much more entertaining. The two of them spend the afternoon betting on who could win the most prizes. But unfortunately her friend can only stay so long - so Nel walks the carnival by herself as she looks for one last game to play before she heads back home. As she moves in the direction of the Balloon Blast game, she immediately notices something is wrong. 

Just beside the ride, she sees PJ and Clementyne being put on stretchers, prepared to be taken to the nearest ambulance, she supposes. They look terrible, Clementyne water-logged and PJ like he’d been out in the sun for much too long with no protection. She even sees a police officer as she leaves the area. Did someone mention a dead body? Nel doesn’t want to have any part in this, so she makes a turn and makes her way back towards the exit.

Nearer to the exit, a figure in red steps out into the open. It scares her at first – surely it would scare anyone who’d been there to see it, in the same way you get scared when a friend grabs you from behind and shouts boo when you’re least expecting it. At first, Nel assumes that it’s someone working at the carnival on the way to their shift, something along those lines. It only takes a few moments for her to realise that isn’t the case. The red dog stares at her, completely still, a large mallet in its hands. When it starts to step closer and closer, she notices that its speed seems to be picking up with every step. Soon, the person in the dog mask is running towards her at an alarming pace. She turns and breaks into a sprint, not willing to take any chances. 

The nearest attraction is the fun house. It only takes a minute to get someone lost in that place, and after having been through with her friend earlier, she’s sure that she is able to disorient the killer. She scrambles through the spinning tunnel, feeling a little uneasy about what she’s about to do. The platforms that move side to side are much more worrisome with a time limit that could end in death, should the counter reach zero - but she makes it across with a film of nervous sweat on her brow, yet no issues. She uses what strength she has left to get over the part of the ride with the floor similar to a treadmill, hips aching with how far she’s pushing her legs to move further, faster. Once she bursts through the door into the mirror maze, she takes a moment to catch her breath. Her body aches in a mixture of exhaustion and anxiety. 

The mirror maze isn’t as difficult as most people make it out to be, she thinks to herself - she’d gotten out of the place before her friend did earlier that day – and she’d won $5 from that bet. But the lights are dimmer now (or perhaps it’s the sudden change in brightness making it harder for her eyes to adjust to the dark), and it seems like her senses are dimmed. While waiting for her eyes to adjust, over the sound of her own breathing, she doesn’t hear that someone else has entered behind her.

When her eyes adapt to the dark, the first thing she sees are two large, cartoonish white eyes behind her. Squinting as her eyes adjust even further, she recognises that the eyes belong to the red dog. Before she can move, the mallet is swung downwards, cracking her right on top of the skull. Sharp, shooting pain crackles through her head, so badly that it feels as though it pulsates through her brain. She has no idea how she’s still standing, not even making an effort to move as her body is paralysed with shock. She feels blood trickle down her forehead.

The dog raises the weapon to swing again, but Nel takes the opportunity to run. She has no time now to carefully manoeuvre her way through the glass and mirror panels, she’s basically running the race blind, and she’s betting her own life – not a measly $5.

When Owen O’hanrahan witnesses the dog chasing Nel, he knows that he has to do something about it. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he continued his day without having checked in on the poor girl - especially to find out the next day that something horrific happened to her. He’s tall in stature, with long legs - so, a fast walker. He simply needs to break into a jog to reach the fun house with the dog killer still in sight. Admittedly, it has been many years since Owen had been on such a ride, so by the time he makes his way through the first few sections, he’s lost sight of the dog completely.

Owen pushes through the curtain into the mirror maze, and similarly to Nel, it takes their eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly lit room. The first thing they notice is a smear of blood on the floor. At least, they believe it to be blood. Their heart sinks in their chest. It doesn’t exactly look like a murder scene, but it’s definitely a bad sign. They know that if anything bad has happened to Nel, they’ll feel personally responsible for not reaching her in time. They begin to make their way through the maze.

Quick on her feet, Nel dodges her way through the maze, just managing to miss glass panels and mirrors as she makes her way through. She thinks she’s made all the right turns - though due to her head injury she isn’t able to remember much from her previous run earlier that day. It isn’t until her face smashes against a panel of glass that she realises she’s reached a dead end. She hadn’t thought it would be possible for her head to hurt any more than it already did, but she’s wrong. Blood rushes from her nose and she’s positive it’s broken. She practically sees double from the tears in her eyes and the pain pulsating in her skull.

Owen has taken a different route, careful with each step as he navigates through the maze. Some of the glass is easy to see, scratched up with smudged fingerprints after years and years of use, but even in the dark it’s incredibly difficult to see without close inspection - something he doesn’t have a lot of time for. After reaching a dead end, he curses to himself and moves back around to try another route. In the dim lighting ahead, he sees Nel. The dog stands menacingly behind her. He notices the way she holds her nose, and the blood dripping down her hand and onto the ground.

In an act of thoughtless, selfless bravery, Owen rushes forward. If he’s fast enough, he just might be able to knock Nel out of the way before the killer swings their mallet. From the looks of her, he’s not sure how many more hits she can take. He’s moments away from stretching his arms out - but his head hits the thick glass panel before he has the chance to. His entire body reacts to the impact, tensing up and seemingly shaking as he held back the tears that had welled in his eyes. He holds a hand to his forehead to be met with warm, wet blood. His neck aches with a serious case of whiplash. At the very least, he has caught Nel’s attention - and she is now aware of the dog's presence.

Nel spins around, backing up against another glass pane, eyes darting from side to side, looking for some way out despite her currently impaired vision. She tries to evaluate her situation, but it seems to be pretty bleak no matter which way she looks at it. Owen begins to throw his fists at the glass, desperate to break through. If he can break it, Nel could easily escape from the way he came. 

The dog lifts Nel by the shirt and slams her body into the glass. The power of Owen’s punches and the force of Nel’s body hitting the glass causes a crack to form. The killer slams her against the glass again and again, the broken glass pinching and breaking her skin before the pane shatters entirely. Owen’s bloodied fists hit nothing as the glass explodes all over them. Nel falls to the ground, broken glass digging into the back of her body. It isn’t long before she can feel the ground beneath her grow wet with blood.

It isn’t until Owen feels the wet warmth seep into his shirt that he realises he’s been hit by something. He raises a bloodied hand to his abdomen, pinching at the sharp edge of what he assumes to be a small piece of glass. He pulls it out, and when he feels the movement from deep inside his flesh, he realises he’s made a mistake. He drops the long piece of thick glass, and the blood flow increases. Even still, he dismisses his own injuries for the sake of Nel.

The dog raises the mallet, prepared to hit the injured girl right between the eyes with the heavy weapon, but Owen grips her beneath the arms and drags her out of the way just in time, the mallet slamming against the ground beneath her legs instead. He pulls her to his feet as quick as he can, beginning to feel lightheaded. “Run and get help,” he says quickly, gently shoving her in the right direction.

“I can’t just leave you!” Nel is panicked, gripping onto his arms as if to drag him along with her, “I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for you, I can’t leave you!” she knows that she’ll forever be grateful for his help – and for that reason, she can’t bring herself to leave him behind.

Owen gives her another gentle shove, “I don’t know if I’m going to make it, see?” he motioned to the blood dripping down his body, “Please - run and get help. You’re going to be okay.”

The dog swings the mallet and it strikes Owen right in the ribs. The impact breaks them with a loud, sickening crack. Nel takes two terrified steps backwards, breaking into a sob. Owen falls to the ground, feeling tiny shards dig into his knees, shins and hands. “Run,” his voice is weaker this time, holding a hand to the gaping hole in his abdomen as if it might somehow ease the pain.

Nel runs. She runs to get help, tears stinging her eyes as she wonders if Owen has any chance of making it out alive, and wondering what she did to deserve such kindness from someone who didn’t even know her. 

On unstable feet, she finds the scene unfolding not far from the tunnel of love, and in turn, she finds the paramedics. They’re immediately concerned for her, though Nel is more concerned for Owen. She recounts the attack briefly, stressing the fact that she needs someone to go in there to rescue Owen immediately. The paramedics try to force her into calmness, but Nel refuses to listen to them and she refuses their help until they promise to get to Owen. 

When the funhouse is searched for the dog’s other victim, no one is to be found. 

plot drop 010 features eleven of our muses encountering the bubblegum twins + the animal killers.

chandler kolinsky is left with a concussion, a head wound and severe bruising.

clementyne spry is left with scrapes and bruises all over, and is almost drowned.

eleanor 'nel' almeida is left with a concussion, a broken nose, full body bruising and cuts resulting in minor blood loss.

florence quint is left with a cut hand, multiple wounds resulting in substantial blood loss and is almost drowned.

hedwig blackwood is left with a grazed face, deep cuts over both palms, bruising, a sprained ankle, a broken arm and a cut along his side resulting in severe blood loss.

joshua sommer is left with many wounds and bruises and blood loss.

loki romanov is left with a grazed face, broken ribs and multiple wounds resulting in substantial blood loss.

naomi yamada is left with a sprained wrist and mild bruising.

philip john 'pj' bolton is left with second degree burns, bruising around the neck, scrapes all over and a concussion.

wilhelmina 'billie' reid is left with many bruises and wounds resulting in severe blood loss.

xena george is left with deep cuts over both palms, bruising, a concussion and a cut across the back resulting in severe blood loss.

[sugarflow]

self destruct

[fennharel]

Self-Paragraph: And the Chancellor breaks

when: sometime after meeting Titania where: the Fall Court, in a hidden clearing trigger warnings: suicide mentions, violence, gore, blood, suicidal ideations

Fen’harel breaks.

There is no poetry to the breaking, no musical quality to the cracking. This is not the breaking you hear about in romantic tragedies, nor in stories with a happy ending. There is no catharsis as the pieces shatter in glittering shards, no relief to the fall of the Chancellor, just pure unadulterated grief and loss. It’s self-destruction, millennia in the making. Years upon years, she had built a legacy she would be proud of. Decades upon decades, she built a legacy she thought she would be proud of. Centuries upon centuries, she built a legacy she no longer knows she can be proud of. 

Millennia of work culminating on the simple realization: Titania had known. 

She had known, but had not stopped her. 

She had known, and loves Fen’harel still. 

There is a high keening noise building at the back of her throat at the reminder of her reality, the breath leaving her lungs as a hand grasps at her chest, not knowing whether she wants to protect her heart— stop it from disintegrating in the relentless barrage that cannot be stopped — or if she wants to rip it out, still beating, still broken. 

Titania loves her still. 

Innocuous words, sharp words, meant to surprise, but not to shake. And yet, she had been. Somehow, after all the years, after all the anger, it had been those words that had shaken her to the core, her resolve cracked and her worldview shaken. Titania loves her, despite believing them to be selfish and greedy and ruthless beyond comparison. She loves her, when Fen’harel can infer no one else will be willing to, once the truth is revealed. 

There is a maelstrom of emotion cradled upon her chest, the flames of fall fires licking the drying tree husks settled around her. The clearing is quiet, but for the high keening noise she cannot let escape, the noise that is slowly building into a scream that will not be contained no matter how much she tries. The clearing is silent, as the Fall Chancellor finally crumbles, after years of denial. The cracks on the dam she had built around her chest spread, as she was forced to feel everything she had kept at bay in the name of a higher purpose. 

Grief, misery, loneliness, disgust, horror. 

Emotions kept at bay to fuel her anger, hidden behind walls in order to bolster the lie she has been telling herself since she rebuilt her being from the ashes. 

She is strong, unfaltering. She was meant to be, but she is not.

She has to be, for if she is not, she is nothing. 

Once upon a time, Fen’harel had been a child, but even that had ended early. 

She had been a child by her species standards. A child that had seen a fraction of what they should have before the weight of the world was delivered upon her fragile shoulders. She had been a child when her parents died, alone and without a Warder, for she had lost him too. A child, and yet older than any remaining Fall Noble. A child, but looked at for direction and protection. A child without a home and without a family, delivered as a sacrifice to those who wanted her to protect them. 

There was no foundation from which she could build her Court, everything had been swept away by the wave of blood and violence brought forth by those their leader had once created. The very clearing in which she had been born turned to ash by human cruelty, eyes haunted by the corpses of her kind. 

                                                                                            Her kind wasn’t meant to die.

And yet, they did. Over and over again, leaving her behind to pick up the pieces of her people, never allowing her time to pick the pieces of herself she had given away to survive.  

First, her Warder, lost in a human war to human hands. Then, her mother, blood falling upon a human blade as life left her eyes. Finally, her father, weighted by his failed duty, by his grief, chooses his own ending rather than looking for a new beginning. 

And Fen’harel? What could she do but pick up the pieces of her court, of her people? What could she do but prioritize her eladrin, rather than her own heart? 

At the end, there was no one left to pick up the pieces of the Fall Chancellor’s heart. Not when there were more important things to be done. Not when there were more important people to be lost. 

Fall is the season of endurance, the season of change.

So she endured, time upon time upon time, ignoring her bleeding chest wound, even as it showed no sign of healing. She endured, building a dam around the concavity within her chest where her heart used to be, stopping the bloody reservoir from spilling over. 

Fen’harel endured, for there was nothing else she could have done. 

She endured, and when the opportunity for change presented itself?

She lost herself to the idea, leaving behind her love for her people, her care, her hopes, all in the search for a greater purpose. A greater meaning. A reason why everyone she had loved had die, and yet she remained, a sole survivor to the cruelties of time.All in the search for something to fill the gaping wound that remained where her heart used to be. 

Grief, misery, loneliness, disgust, horror.

They remained unacknowledged, decades upon decades, centuries upon centuries, millennia upon millennia. The hole in her chest never stopped bleeding, but it coagulated, it darkened, it rotted, as she forewent her principles and her morals and her laws. 

Little by little, Fen’harel changed, all without noticing. Little by little, her reflection stopped showing her the once carefree girl, turning into the Dread Wolf that had devoured her instead. 

Little by little, she had become the monster that had once haunted her nightmares. 

“How many of our kind was worth it to you? To see me put in my place?”

Fen’harel had not answered Titania then, too afraid to acknowledge the truth. 

“I don’t know,” she chokes out against the silence, voice hoarse from the scream she won’t let out. Dull blue eyes watch the burning clearing, the yellow-orange-red leaves going up in flames even as thunderstorm clouds gather above. “I don’t know. How do I not know?”

The realization had hit her in a flash of lightning, the cracks on the walls of the dam widening and spreading until the entire entire structure teetered in the precipice of destruction.

“I don’t know how many died in my greed, because I refused to look.”

The confession meets the silence of the clearing, the flickering flame, and disappears into the air, even as the cracks become holes. 

How many had died, just so she could win?

How many died because she had turned away from her morals in her search for progress?

                                                              She didn’t know.

The admission is devastating.

She had only wanted to help.

Her mouth opens against her will and the keen whine turned ragged scream shatters the silence as she falls to her knees and the clouds above release their weight, the rain sweeping away the flames and leaving behind only devastation and desolation. 

An apt metaphor for her current state, she muses darkly, as she closes her eyes and gives into the pain on her chest. 

As the rain weights down her clothes, as her dress is soaked by ashes and mud, as lightning illuminates the skies, Fen’harel closes her eyes and does what she hasn’t allowed herself to do since the moment her father took his final breath. 

                                                           She feels. 

Grief, misery, loneliness, disgust, horror. 

Grief, as she remembers watching her father grip the iron sword. Grief as she knows she cannot stop him, as she watches the sword raise and rest against his throat. Grief, as she meets his hopeless and dull eyes and knows he is already dead. 

Misery, the sight of the ashes of the settlement fading away in the distance and she can’t look. She has to be strong, she has to be steady, she has to, she has to she has to. Can’t look back, can’t miss what is gone, can’t be weak, can’t cry. She can’t she can’t she can’t. 

Loneliness, the growing heartache as more and more of her friends are lost to the darkness, to the fate of a drow. They were meant to be eternal, everlasting, dancing away the seasons year after year, but now all she can see is youth untouched by the grief of war. Familiar faces hide deathly intentions, the nostalgia of youth shredded by a killing blade. 

Disgust, at the way her hands drip red beneath the sins she has committed in the name of progress. Disgust, as she turns her back to her people again and again and again, all towards a goal she tells herself is righteous. 

Horror, at the monsters she has helped free. Horror, at the monster she has become. Horror, at the realization she did it willingly. Eyes wide open as she stepped deeper into the hell she made, every step precise and deliberate as she walked into the dark. 

The Courts need to change, she knows this. 

                                                                      She thinks this. 

                                                                                                   She hopes this. 

If they don’t, everything will have been in vain, and she cannot stand the thought. 

Not when her search for progress is the only reason she had chosen to keep living until now. 

The rain is torrential, falling upon her frame relentlessly, mirroring the tears sliding down her cheeks. 

Fen’harel remains kneeling for a long time, drawing from the well she had shut away since her father’s death and drinking from it. Drinking the coagulated, rotted blood, acknowledging the grief, the misery, the loneliness, the disgust, the horror, until there is nothing left.

Until there is nothing left of her but her shell. 

Then, she does what she does best. 

Empty and lifeless, the Fall Chancellor picks up the pieces of her masks, putting them together even as the edges catch on her palms and cause them to bleed. She picks up the pieces of who she had been, and forces them back into place to hide what she has become. Gone is the anger, the determination, leaving behind an overwhelming emptiness that consumes everything in its path. 

She wants to die. 

She wishes she could.

She cannot. 

There is still work to be done. She had to ensure her mistakes do not cost her kind everything, ensure that there is a court once the dust settles, she has to has to has to. 

She cannot die, for that would be easy. 

She cannot kill herself for that would only give the drows another blade. 

So Fen’harel picks up the pieces, and builds her masks.

All the while hoping no one notices that all that is left is a hollow marionette. 

[nixii-sabre]

Brave as a Noun | Rainworld OC Animatic | TW in Description (youtube.com)

MORE LORE ON NECROSIS AU??? NO WAY???

Please heed the warnings in the description tho <3