Who: Fever, Helena, and those threading with them What:January non-event things. When: All month. Where: Across the isle. Warning(s): To be noted in threads individually
"Sort of the nature of things, isn't it? You can't proper take the feelings out of the box sometimes unless you rip them out crying and screaming. Then you feel a pleasant sort of tidiness, once your head is pounding and your cheeks are raw and you know you've made a scene. Much better an idea than keeping that box shuttered forcibly until everything inside of it rots."
It was what made the soil so rich to begin with. Things broken down, changed, left as fuel and nutrients, where madness might find purchase and drink deep. Earth in her throat, her mouth.
Sitting down on the floor, crosslegged, the box in her lap. Reaching for one of her knives - it's the Figment Blade that answers this time, and she brings down the edge to try and cut through the seal that secures this box. No dice - the weapon's temperamental as it is, and today is a day where it wants to be nothing more than a beautiful paperweight. No cutting edge.
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something something the author is depressed and this is a mood
no subject
It was what made the soil so rich to begin with. Things broken down, changed, left as fuel and nutrients, where madness might find purchase and drink deep. Earth in her throat, her mouth.
Sitting down on the floor, crosslegged, the box in her lap. Reaching for one of her knives - it's the Figment Blade that answers this time, and she brings down the edge to try and cut through the seal that secures this box. No dice - the weapon's temperamental as it is, and today is a day where it wants to be nothing more than a beautiful paperweight. No cutting edge.
Fine then, if it wanted to be like that.
"What if I blow this one up?"