How quaint she is, seeming to act as if she wasn't bothered by your lack of acknowledgement. It's obvious she is a beauty, yet that is nothing to you for you only have one task at hand. Success is futile though in this cruel universe boy. Why continue with this power struggle, when it is you who will always win, because we are one. Yet here you lay, sides heaving and mind fading in and out as you begin to come to a close in your death. You almost welcome it now, for the pain is something fierce. She has come to your aid... in her own way. As she stares you look back and stare into those yellow pools, searching for her soul. In a way you wish she would just crush your skull in, but that would be simply too easy of a way out for you boy.

Though she tries to resist the urge to help you, her kind heart seems to have gotten the best of her. Lucky you, for now. Yet it seems she's of little help as well, for only a flicker of flame escapes her wings, and once the glow begins to fade does she then place it over you. At first you flinch, having not been touched by a soul since foalhood, and though you want to kick away your energy is fading, and your consciousness is following suit. Yet what surprises the both of us is that her warmth has seemed to have actually been of use; for you can feel your muscles relaxing, and your throat slowly releasing the grasp it has on the mushed up sustenance. Soon your gasping, coughing, and out spills the culprit of your near demise along with every other berry beforehand.

Whether it landed on her or not you're not entirely sure, all you know is that air is returning to your lungs and your lips are fading back to their lively pink, as the tension fades and you begin to regulate your breathing. Coughing once more and letting your head lay flat you close your eyes, simply attempting to recover from it all. Such a shame for you that it turned out this way hm? For even if anything you digested was harmful, you wouldn't find out now. Instead it only painted your white coat like acrylic paint on a canvas, a mix of many colors that would have likely been beautiful under any other circumstances. It would only be you who can manage to throw up in front of the first pretty girl you interact with. Maybe you don't need me to torture yourself after all, for you seem to have it covered all by yourself.

Soon you're turning your gaze to her again, watching her wearily, pondering whether or not she really is an enemy. Let's not address the fact that she did actually try and help you, and simply let your irrational, paranoid mind divulge into your petty illusions that saving you was for her benefit. Not even your mother could have benefitted from saving you... and yet she did. How ironic. Where did that bring her Timothy? Where is mommy now?

Stop it! you snarl, jerking suddenly with ears pinned to your skull. Without thinking you're moving from her tender touch and freeing yourself of the cold ground. Stumbling backwards to assess the scene at a different view. It is only then that you realize that you are covered in your own filth, and with a defeated and irked expression you turn yourself towards a spring, wasting no time with entering the depths and letting your waste disperse around you. It had been so long since you bathed, and you couldn't help but suddenly realize that you were indeed in need of one. So once again you are ignoring her, working on yourself and not even realizing just how rude it is of you to not even thank the bitch for attempting to help. I may be who I am, but even I know when to be civilized.