(Untitled)

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ tonight, when you return to your room, there's a journal waiting for you. it's open to the first page, with your name and the date written neatly in a rusty brown in the upper right hand corner.

as you step forward, the pages flutter in anticipation. ]

(( NOT DEADLY but not entirely safe. carry on winding down due to internet problems. feel

Comments

[archaelologist]

[oho]

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ a light spot appears on the page, as if fresh ink from the one underneath it has just bled through ]

[archaelologist]

[...pausing, and then writing]

Hello.

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ the lines twist, slowly, and over the course of what feels like minutes, reform.

and i had d ]

[thearchemage]

[oho, what's this?]

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ a drop of ink appears on the page. it almost seems to pulse ]

[thearchemage]

[cautiously takes a closer look, remembering what happened the last time she got too close to something.]

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ it's only a journal ]

[purple_pliers]

[...well that's JUST what I needed]

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ flutter, flutter ]

[purple_pliers]

[glances at it]

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ a single line on the page--was that there before?--seems to quiver ]

[moefortono]

[Peering at the journal.]

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ a single stroke of ink appears, then fades, just barely ]

[moefortono]

Ah! [Leans a little closer.]

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ it pulses--or was that your imagination? ]

[pussyfortono]

What?

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ 志葉 丈瑠 ]

[pussyfortono]

. . .

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ . . . ]