!

« 𝚃𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊 𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚜! »

It's a pity what lethargy will do to you this time of year. Termina waits for no-one, dear companion, you're better off undisturbed below the ground. Moonscorch is a disease, consider this a favor from a doctor.

[i'm not quite satisfied with this piece but alas, i'm tired]

two guys chilling on the ground, not at all distanced (it’s the gay month)

he just like me fr

[Excerpts] Moments in Time - Changeling Time Loop Scenes

[part of the premise of moments in time was the changeling being stuck in a loop of reliving the events of the game until she reached an ending that satisfied the condition of an unequivocally good ending. at the time it meant me wanting everyone to survive but costing her a great deal of sanity. i never got far with the premise, as it was too burdensome for a novice writer]

Clara could only imagine how many memories she held deep in her psyche at this junction. It was a turning point in her existence, not being numb and empty, but accompanied by the comforting buzz of unconscious knowledge, wisdom that only seeped into true awareness in her dreams and premonitions. The first times had been the most excruciating, the confusion and hurt seared her brain every step of the way out of that muddy grave and into a bigger coffin; a coffin fit for a bull the size of a town, a coffin that held dreams of long-gone hosts. A tomb the size of the world.

A sense of wrong had chased her every step, she had felt as though she was an actor on a stage rehearsing, only to be told it was already time to act out a play she didn’t know the script for. Every response she gave to others came with a jolt, a shock that told her she’d said something wrong; her confused and anxious words only served to prompt looks of disappointment in others. There was an epidemic, a plague, and she was only a girl with no memories at all, so why do they look upon her asking for a saint? She could not be any of the things she’d been told she was, why, she couldn’t recall creating miracles or stealing objects. Something was deeply wrong.

The only time she had felt some semblance of right in the world, a correctness she’d never felt before, was when she gazed at the two acting doctors spearheading the effort against the pest. Of course, that was a rather generous description of their actions, which more closely resembled desperate attempts at grasping the reins of a situation above them all. Yes, they were familiar in the same way she could look down at her hands and discern they were hers, in the same way one could look in a mirror and instantly determine which muscles would change one’s expression on their twin visage. They were the Bachelor and the Haruspex, and the Changeling knew they were to be as light and dark are to each other, halves of a whole, mirror images that created a cohesive narrative, united by dusk and dawn.

~+~

Clara felt as though, if pressed, she could accurately describe the experience of death. There always lingered inside her a sense that she had already gone through everything before, a feeling of stagnant deja vu which she carried like a satchel on her person, a familiar weight. It was a blessing, surely, to not be caught completely off guard, to always know what to say, but it also irked her at times, to know a conversation would go nowhere, or feel the cold seeping into her boots before even stepping outside.

There were worse things, though. The loss of the feeling would strike her like if she were rolling out of a bed tangled in warm blankets, only to unravel when she hit the hard ground. Not that she had the luxury of blankets and beds, even in metaphor. As it were, unexpected events would shake her to her core and exhilarate her both at once, a shot of adrenaline and juvenile glee at facing a new experience. It was as if her saintly mask would melt away to reveal a scared but excited girl, and only a girl.

The source of such unexpected events was almost always Dankovsky or Burakh making choices different from what she would expect, drawing the rugs from under her bruised feet and leaving her to recollect the pieces of her shattered premonitions. If this was what it felt like to be a Mistress, she had newfound respect for the unruffled dames of the big families.

my beyond the spiderverse predictions ☝️ (find my other spiderverse shit here)