Play
Yes, as in
Play a Lovegame
No jokes, if possible.
==-==-==
The first skill she learned after she got out was elusion. Eluding everyone who sought her. It began as a survival strategy. it ended as a game. A way to pass the time, pass the years. The infinite spans of time that her simple human mind wasn't designed to withstand.
The second skill was delusion. Deluding everyone around her into believing that she was normal. Regular. Almost human, just strange enough to be interesting, just familiar enough to be worth the effort. It was part of the game- it required two players. At least.
Its an amazing thing, the variety you can find in some of these places. Humans shaded in every color of the rainbow. Infrared to ultraviolet and back again, whirling and crushing, pressing and pleading. She, for her part, remains colorless this evening. Silver, grey, black, white. Stark, but hardly unmatched or unusual. The contrast is what makes her pop, and the only ones that are obvious here are the ones that try too hard to fade. She joins the cacophony to hide in it.
It barely takes an hour to find out who wants to play tonight. There are always many to choose from. The first quality that disqualifies is height. She refuses to go against someone shorter than her. It is too risky.
The next is color. Every mish mashed, wild and ridiculous combination is acceptable. The only thing that discharges you in that round is pink. No pink. Never. It drains her to watch that color. It saps her will to live, and will to live is important.
It picks the final contender. The one that is the most alive.
Only the living feel desperation. And desperation on a face that isn't hers is one of her reprieves.
The night passes. The week passes. The years pass and pass.
The rules fade from conscious thought.
Sometimes someone sneaks past the filters. Half a head smaller. A pink earring.
The infractions get worse, as she goes.
It isn't until she wakes to find herself entangled in the limbs of someone barely as high as her shoulder with hair the gaudy color of discarded bubblegum that she remembers.
But it isn't the rules that she recalls.
It is a single sentence. It is the sickness. It is the curse, and it punches through her body harder than anything in decades has.
The squawking girl she kidnapped from the party certainly doesn't know what has possessed the owner of bed she now occupies. Looking at her face, Kalte imagines that she doesn't care.
After that, the mysterious pink nymph is unceremoniously removed from her premises. Told on no uncertain terms to never come back.
It takes two months of agonizing starvation- everything from food to sight, sound to touch is denied- before she is willing to return to the outside. It has been a long time since she saw a calendar. Since the date mattered.
She doesn't want the date to matter anymore. But, the fact remains: twenty seven years is a long time to go without sustenance. She has been living for so long on artifice, it barely registered as wrong.
Play a Lovegame
No jokes, if possible.
==-==-==
The first skill she learned after she got out was elusion. Eluding everyone who sought her. It began as a survival strategy. it ended as a game. A way to pass the time, pass the years. The infinite spans of time that her simple human mind wasn't designed to withstand.
The second skill was delusion. Deluding everyone around her into believing that she was normal. Regular. Almost human, just strange enough to be interesting, just familiar enough to be worth the effort. It was part of the game- it required two players. At least.
Its an amazing thing, the variety you can find in some of these places. Humans shaded in every color of the rainbow. Infrared to ultraviolet and back again, whirling and crushing, pressing and pleading. She, for her part, remains colorless this evening. Silver, grey, black, white. Stark, but hardly unmatched or unusual. The contrast is what makes her pop, and the only ones that are obvious here are the ones that try too hard to fade. She joins the cacophony to hide in it.
It barely takes an hour to find out who wants to play tonight. There are always many to choose from. The first quality that disqualifies is height. She refuses to go against someone shorter than her. It is too risky.
The next is color. Every mish mashed, wild and ridiculous combination is acceptable. The only thing that discharges you in that round is pink. No pink. Never. It drains her to watch that color. It saps her will to live, and will to live is important.
It picks the final contender. The one that is the most alive.
Only the living feel desperation. And desperation on a face that isn't hers is one of her reprieves.
The night passes. The week passes. The years pass and pass.
The rules fade from conscious thought.
Sometimes someone sneaks past the filters. Half a head smaller. A pink earring.
The infractions get worse, as she goes.
It isn't until she wakes to find herself entangled in the limbs of someone barely as high as her shoulder with hair the gaudy color of discarded bubblegum that she remembers.
But it isn't the rules that she recalls.
It is a single sentence. It is the sickness. It is the curse, and it punches through her body harder than anything in decades has.
The squawking girl she kidnapped from the party certainly doesn't know what has possessed the owner of bed she now occupies. Looking at her face, Kalte imagines that she doesn't care.
After that, the mysterious pink nymph is unceremoniously removed from her premises. Told on no uncertain terms to never come back.
It takes two months of agonizing starvation- everything from food to sight, sound to touch is denied- before she is willing to return to the outside. It has been a long time since she saw a calendar. Since the date mattered.
She doesn't want the date to matter anymore. But, the fact remains: twenty seven years is a long time to go without sustenance. She has been living for so long on artifice, it barely registered as wrong.