(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

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[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? ]

[moefortono]

...

[Reaches out to touch fingers to the page.]

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ the paper ripples under the touch, a small dab of ink appearing and disappearing where your index finger touched ]

[moefortono]

Just what is this? [Picking up the entire book!]

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ it doesn't seem to want to close. ]

[moefortono]

[Tries turning pages!]

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ those flip easily--eagerly, even. toward the end of the journal is a single letter.

i ]

[moefortono]

...? [Flips back through a few previous pages to make sure she didn't miss any other letters.]

[fuckyou_chorus]

[ there are none. ]

[moefortono]

How odd.