#a Honey pov sorta of thing while she's in the ring? idk

[vorekody]

This isn't just about me, honestly, you're the real star here.

I may be the instrument to your demise, but you are the melody, you are what they jeer for.

What will you do when you're faced with a mutilated oblivion?

There's so many options.

You could run, but in here? Not many places to go, you're stuck with me, and fleeing will only make me chase you down all the faster, it'd be a shame to end things so quickly.

Some stand their ground, trying to face me down with the supplied simple weaponry. That's fun. I'll swat you about, pick away at you between each futile jab. Because we all know that it's only games, those pointed sticks are toys just as much as you are, there to fulfill a role- a mimicry of fairness. To give the idea that you'd stand a chance.

Attempted escape artists are a joy. To drag you back kicking and screaming after watching your efforts to scale the walls is pleasurable, and dashing those fragile hopes with a few simple tugs always seems to get the crowd going.

I can't help but be amused by intimation, you're face growing dark with every yell or toss up of your arms, limbs that will soon become dettached, really you shouldn't be waving them around like that if you'd like to keep them. I am no bear, I will not cower to you.

I've heard cries of mercy too, whiney pleas for life that don't make sense to sound in a arena catered to death. On the other end of the spectrum attempts to sympathize, to rationalize - which are equally as inappropriate, why rationalize the irrational?

But some just don't know when to let go, Read the room. Play your part.

This isn't simply a feeding, it's a performance, a show of the food chain put on display for the morbidly curious, and to grovel is so unbefitting of what we're here to do.