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What a grim place. You are tempted to turn around and return from whence you came, but there is nothing for you there. With a past like yours, littered with discarded hearts and angry strangers, you make it a point never to go back merely for the sake of going back. So, you press on through the snowy forest. Your lips curl with distaste at the way the wet cinders that taint the snow do likewise to your slim alabaster legs. Your poor tail is getting the worst of it: you raise it slightly to keep it from dragging in the freezing black mud that clings to your hair, turning ivory to ebony. Why do you even bother? The confounded soot is everywhere. You snort in frustration, sputtering on the ash that enters your lungs. Perfect. Wonderful. You need a distraction.
Yet no one is in sight. Have they all abandoned this godforsaken place? You can’t even hear the rustle of a bat wing, much less a single bird in the trees. In fact, if you were a more sensible sort, this place would be starting to give you the creeps. But you laugh in the face of danger, don’t you? Not because you’re not afraid, but because you will never admit to yourself that you are. And if fear is the only thing that makes you hesitant to continue your leisurely little stroll through the crooked, charred, skeleton trees, then stroll you will, if only to prove a point. Even if it’s only to yourself.
Compelling as your logic may be, your ground-eating trot—don’t rush now, you’re not afraid, remember—has made you thirsty. You glance around, but the only water in sight is a stagnant puddle, and very near frozen over at that. Of course. Nonetheless, you approach the shallow basin, if only to see if you can catch a glimpse of your reflection. Sure enough, your pale face stares back at you appealingly. You look like a ghost in these creaky woods; the image is only spoiled by the smudge of black soot across your left eye. You flatten your ears at your reflection, smug smile slipping off of your lips. At this rate, you might as well roll in the cinders! You kick the dust into the polluted puddle and move back toward the path. You’ve only gone a few meters when you pause, feeling like someone is watching you. Is it only the woods, or do you have company?
@[Confutatis]
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I Came in Like a Wrecking Ball [Regime]
