#but i had to cause of all the observer stuff happening in the ptb

[artists-plight]

Paranoia crawled around the back of Carmina’s mind for a while, resurfacing more often ever since she arrived at the survivors’ campfire. Something’s off. Something’s been off. She’s trying to ignore it. Her library’s books remain dormant on the shelves. They’ve stayed like that for longer than she’s known them to be around for. Usually, replacements are arranged when she’s busy outside her tower. They change when she’s not looking. Some books even have notes and bookmarks in them, specifically created for her, left by an anonymous presence.

Carmina likes to call this mysterious figure her ‘librarian friend,’ though she’s not even sure if they’re a librarian. They just happen to have access to even more books than what her tower holds and are now sharing their storage with her, possibly out of bored intrigue to see what she does with them. Like she’s some kind of zoo animal. But it’s not like that. This librarian really seems to care about her interests, sending her research papers on all of Earth’s birds and history textbooks about eras in art. It’s sweet. Who knew an invisible librarian could make such a good buddy?

But they’ve stopped. So sudden too. Carmina frets she did something to anger them or scare them off. She can’t afford to lose any friends here. God, what did she do wrong?

To take her mind off it, the artist picks up the single novel she stole from her tower. The one with the spider infestation, titled ‘Terra Arachna.’ An interesting plot, extremely morbid and grim. A difficult read purely because of the shock value in the gorey details. Perspective isn’t on a single protagonist, rather on a whole town dealing with the apocalypse crashing down upon them and eating away at all life. In a literal sense. As she flips through the pages, she notices a printing error. A thin black line goes off the inside of the back cover, zig-zagged like lightning. It’s not her ink. Her smudges are thicker from her long, large fingers. This is the marking of a pen. Skipping to the very last page, her golden eyes wince at the frantic words displayed.

I can’t be the only one. Read this. Please. You should know what happened to-

The ‘o’ runs off, breaking into panicked fragments of ‘Here. All of them. Worry not. Protect others.’ Anything else is scratched up, unreadable.

The phantom spider skitters up Carmina’s back. She recognizes this sensation. The Entity is watching her closely. The cackle of a million voices overrides all other fears.

���Time’s running short for your secret companion. Or perhaps it’s already over. I’ve breached his safety. He’s at the mercy of me. No more hiding anything. I see all. I know all.”

Carmina’s hands dig into her scalp, desperate to rake all the taunting voices living inside her brain. GET OUT OF HER HEAD. LEAVE HER FRIENDS ALONE. THEY ARENT THE ONES WHO DESERVE PUNISHMENT. TAKE HER INSTEAD. SHES BEEN HIDING SO MANY THINGS FROM YOU. SHE CAN SPILL IT ALL. SHE CAN TAKE THE PAIN.

“Oh, you pathetic little caged bird. That’ll just ruin all the excitement if I hunted you down instead. You haven’t been as much of a disruptor to my work as he has. He’s done this for far too long. It was only a matter of time until I broke through his weak defenses and got my deserved vengeance. With him in my clutches, I can finally put some of my ideas inspired by you to the test. After all, mockery is the sincerest form of flattery.”

The Entity fades away. Carmina lies defeated in the dirt, face dangerously close to the flames of the campfire. But she doesn’t care. She lets the heat consume her, numbing the pain in her head; a migraine ripping her serenity apart. Unfixable. She’s lost another friend. Too soon. And she’s all to blame. Drop the blame on her. Blame blame blame blame blame

Three survivors tug Carmina away from her frightening position near the fire. The coolness of the endless night overtakes the suffocating heat. They don’t know what she knows. She can’t tell.