It Is Rotten Work. But I Love You Purposely And Ardently, So Ill Do It Anyway. Its Rotten Work Because

it is rotten work. but i love you purposely and ardently, so i’ll do it anyway. it’s rotten work because i don’t like to see you hurt. so stain these hands, i can wash them clean. i will wash them clean so you can stain them again. tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. because i chose to love you. rotten parts and all.

I acknowledge that you believe you were happy. But we have witnessed him messing with your emotions and causing you genuine emotional distress for even daring to say “I don’t want pancakes today”

Ardent sighs. He locks the door. "I'm going grocery shopping tomorrow. Alone. Wait no I need someone to watch Althea."

We are so fucking close to this freak paying for everything he did to Pet. For treating him like a fucking toy and not the fucking human being he is.

You notice the men are armed. You notice the faintest mark of bruises on the womans arms covered by makeup. You burn inside.

The men stand up.

You stand up also.

He looks at you, your hood falls down.

Ugh, that fucking duck will get his just desserts soon

You slip into a back room after a waiter, he's short no more than 5'3 and the kind of features you usually shed at the end of puberty. He can't be older than 16.

You can take him out in two strokes of the knife. If he turns around, it'll ruin everything. Your hand grips the handle of the knife you stole from Techno's.

There are a few places Quackity could be. The casino, his penthouse, maybe the strip club. We just have to make sure we find him fast.

Domino opens the door to the VIP lounge. A 6 tables are occupied, 2 with guards dressed as patrons. Waiters walk holding trays of Hors d'oeuvres.

You see in the corner booth Quackity with two scantily clad ladies on each arm. Across from him are two rough looking men who smile with teeth of gold. One of them reaches across the table and traces his hand down the models neck.

If you could get visited by anyone in your past life, Pet, who would it be?

A man walks up, he's short with brown hair and small wings. He smiles at you and sits down. He takes the bowl from your hands eating the soup for himself. You rest your head on his lap. It's home.