Cracked head, broken glass, full of that angry blaring static, dark wood twisted around a single unblinking shadow. It keeps to the corners and edges, pressed between the faded contours of this house like the wretched skittering rat-thing it is.
This body is insufficient.
But in the corners of this broken thing's eyes, it will loom, ever-present. It will follow. It will taint the fringes of its memory until there is nothing but the fear that it will swallow whole.
It has needed, for some time, to hollow itself out a new puppet.
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Cracked head, broken glass, full of that angry blaring static, dark wood twisted around a single unblinking shadow. It keeps to the corners and edges, pressed between the faded contours of this house like the wretched skittering rat-thing it is.
This body is insufficient.
But in the corners of this broken thing's eyes, it will loom, ever-present. It will follow. It will taint the fringes of its memory until there is nothing but the fear that it will swallow whole.
It has needed, for some time, to hollow itself out a new puppet.