Choked Raven

It may be a literal mask, an image that Whumper created for themselves, perhaps in order to separate and secure safe and benevolent part of themselves from sinful and sadistic thoughts — those that began to creep in recently, or maybe they always haunted them, until Whumper finally decided to create this binary being out of themselves. They separated their tendencies to enjoy destruction from themselves and endowed them with a face.

And so it happens for a certain period of time. They can remotely control the life of Whumpee and spoil it in every possible way, they can use their acolytes — perhaps these acolytes are the personification of their dark self — however, as long as their hands remained clean, they were unshakeable in their innocence.

But surely this turning point can happen, the moment when Whumper will be forced to realize all that they have done. That all of it wasn't because of some fictional persona they created — they had to face what they had done.

It could be in a courtroom. Someone had followed their trail by threads, and now Whumper was seeing their Whumpee in person— so did Whumpee — they were sitting face to face, both realizing the gravity of this discovery. One of them might cry. It will be followed by a cry from the second one. How sweet. But you can't flood justice with tears.

Or perhaps, at some point, Whumper will forget about their own scheme of non-involvement — or perhaps they themselves will want to push it aside in order to become stronger, merge with their more powerful and cold side. But, here's the problem. They didn't think that their lighter part would take the lead instead.

At least that's what he thinks.

He had long ceased to be aware of the world around him in the understanding and point of view of other people, if only because he was separated from it by these terrible rough walls, which hoped to replace his habitat. However, he thought these walls went much deeper. Deeper than just what he sees and what they prevent him from seeing. They affect his consciousness.

He feels like a fish that has been given a scuba tank but filled with water and put on a diving mask, so that it can feel safe on land without endangering its health. But to feel like a free fish, placed in someone else's space, and to feel forcibly torn away from your former space were oh so different things. Besides, fish are stupid.

Only the sky, only the wind, only joy ahead...

He feels a sweet voice burning in the back of his mind, like a tiny flame of a campfire in an igloo during a severe snowstorm — so familiar, it calls out to the carefree fish, hoping to get to its roots, to its component.

But the fish is stupid. He's not.

That sweet voice sends him back to home. Despite everything, he knows that he doesn't belong to the rough walls and inky wires — that's what they made him a part of, they made it join his creation, naively believing that they could replace his creator. But his true creator instilled perseverance and hope in his head.

Oh sweet, sweet voice.

The words it spoke seemed both his own and someone else's. They were his own in meaning and understanding he remembered from ancient times, but they were distorted by this alien shell, these strange letters and harmonious words that formed into a little song.

That was about the same feeling about that strange nickname they gave him.

Naviki.

It was him. However, unlike the little song, this nickname didn't cause him any sort of kinship.

Naviki was what they created. The wires they ran to his delicate skin — never being presented to any misfortunes and miseries before. At least now, he could tell for sure what misery and misfortune were.

To know that it's raining outside, and yet to know that no normal person would have the slightest idea about it in his position.

Because they replaced his human feelings — now there were impulses instead of guesses.

These tiny vibrations sent through his whole body through the wires, his black rubber veins. They now formed the complete web of his being, they helped him, saved him from ignorance, and at the same time drowned him in it. Ignorance is better, he thought desperately, as with every drop of drizzling rain pounding against the two-meter-thick wall of concrete and titanium, with an electric signals pulses and small jumps of weather played through his wires, in unison with his blood supply.

It was maddening. But it was also soothing to some extent.

At some point, he stopped realizing where was blood circulation in his body and where there were weather stimuli. It made him feel at one with the world outside. It was as if they were subject to the same mood, the same dreams and demons.

Drip, drip, drip...

Peace.

Beat, beat, beat...

Hey, cloud, ain't it hard for you to carry all the angels on your back?

Drip, drip, drip...

Ah, you silly thing, angels are weightless.

Thump, thump, thump...

Thumps forming into steps.

he shuddered. The vibrations of the impulses in his wires began to increase, mixing with the beating of his heart in a formless symphony, until they again took on one measured, turbulent flow.

Someone's coming, he thought.

A downpour has began.

Imagine them their whole life living in hell, the hot place, and when they appear on earth, they constantly feel cold here (especially in some countries of the north), which they have to get used to?

What if they were used to know that good is bad in their twisted morality — and now, with kind people surrounding them, they feel just... lost and defensive. Not able to trust anyone.

Maybe whumpee will join bad people, bad relationship because they will feel that these are right, are normal, because they are like most in hell. Maybe they will tolerate pain in their presence, because it's just right, isn't it?

boyy, sorry it took me so long to answer, thanks for your question! <3

And yeah, my opinion — just yes. It's classic, undying and not getting any worser.

We all love Whumpers and all these yummy sadistic things, but how can it sometimes be unexpectedly pleasant to suddenly just be bedridden by the will of your own body? I love that, honestly. Whumpee can't do anything, Caretaker can't do anything either, completely helpless, all this is just the will of how Mistress Fever behaves. My, that's getting quite metaphorical.

Yo guys

I'm coming up with new character, and I have an ABSOLUTE fat lump of ideas in my head and I like like, I wanna add them all but I can't

It will be a kind of medical/laboratory whump (classic) with a dash of fantasy, and I like it so far (like guyys, look, he's got wires under his eyes!!!)

Initially, it was actually planned as a small reference drawing, but God, I just added shadows under his eyes and he literally became dead inside, and it's so delicious

Now I feel obliged to come up with few art/prompt¿ ideas for you, and I have some I swear😭😳

Maybe, I accidentally scrolled past it, but it would be nice if you posted something about your likes/dislikes in whump for example! What you’d love to create(be it an art or a story) and what are your main squicks? How many people - so many opinions… I think that’d be interesting and veeery informative. Wanna make it right, while requesting anything :3

Have a good day!

Sorry for any possible mistakes, I’m not a native speaker either lol

- 🤎Anon

(with all those likes it’s easy to track me down lmao I’m genius)

Oh my god thank you so much, anon!! Wh I'm gonna to lick this message all over up and down now, thank you very much, I really appreciate your words!🤍

Btw I'm not a native speaker either so no problems with it at all xd, I probably wouldn't even notice if something was wrong

And thanks for the request! I'd really be interested in making something like a taboo sheet and a preference sheet or something like that. There's really much different stuff I like about whump (you can literally come up with anything for me!) and collecting all this stuff here would be very tedious, so, for now, I'll just put here things that I will never write and perhaps I will write reluctantly. From more to less!

NSFW art and writing! You will never see any of this in my blog

most of the -philies

child whump; all my OCes involved in the whump in one way or another are over 16 years old (not including side OCes)

too much violence, I'm sorry, but I really can't write something like character gets hit by a track five times then falls off a cliff to land on a stake and is conscious the whole time-

it appeared to be shorter than I expected huh

how to tell them he doesn't know?

Here we go with some art based on my previous whump post! Dunno If this is what you were imagining, but uh eh

The fluff swirls around them in large flakes, slowly settling on the floor, like a picture of their slowly crumbling innocence, the fall of their mind. It seems like their whole life is now flowing into their hands, through their fingers into the poker, until it becomes a part of them, their new limb, their new mind.

No, it's not a fall. It's an acquisition. They gain strength, they gain intelligence, power. Their new limb, new mind. They become something more than a human, something much more perfect and free — a being that shouldn't obey its weaknesses, but act above them.

A mannequin, mutilated beyond recognition, covered with a thin cloth and stuffed with down, once looking impersonally into the face of its enemy, now smashed to smithereens, presents a complete picture of defeat, becomes a symbol of losses that Whumpee will no longer have to experience. They are no longer the frail, pathetic scum of society that the world thought they were. And they're going to prove it to them.

"Well done, little one."

A voice purrs somewhere behind Whumpee, and they clutch the poker a little tighter, looking away from their soulless torn enemy to look at Whumper through the wet strands of their hair. Their eyes are empty, like two holes into infinity.

Whumper smiles.

"You're improving every day, kid." Whumper says sweetly, slowly coming closer and brushing off a piece of fluff from their shoulder, looking at the work done by their student. "Maybe we'll even do without punishments this week, what do you think?"

Whumpee tilts their head to the side, their eyes are still empty, while their hands slightly loosen their grip on the poker — their mind gradually begins to clear.

Maybe it wasn't an acquisition after all. Perhaps it was all just a big illusion, created by their teacher, their master, to keep them close with this fragile shell of visible control of theirs.

Every time, every lesson they failed and won, when they became stronger and believed that the fateful day was approaching, when they would finally be able to prove Whumper that they was worthy, that they had become perfect, that they had become more than a human being — every time they fed on this thought and believed that they were getting closer to freedom and disclosure. It was their perverted religion, their creed, which consisted of a circulating cycle of suffering and breakdowns.

Whumper's smile softens and they come closer, putting their heavy hand on Whumpee's head and patting it in a deliberately gentle gesture, expressing pride.

Whumpee practically melts under the gesture, their fingers on the poker relax, as does their entire body, as if a whole weight had been lifted from their shoulders with that one gesture of approval. They close their eyes.

They handled it. They're getting better. Whumper is proud of them.

This degradation... They believed that they were becoming more than a human—whereas they were becoming less and less every day—that they knocked out so many 'flaws' until their mind became just a shell, descending to primitive animal needs. So far, they has just lived from punishment to punishment, from reward to reward, barely realizing how far they are from what they think they are.

In the end, Whumper became their everything. Whumper fed them, provided them with a bed for the night, rewarded them with a kind word whenever they thought they were losing more and more pieces of their personality, slowly surrendering to the mercy of their master, becoming their fighting tin soldier.

And yet...

Yet, at times they felt echoes of their past self in their head, the slowly rotting remnants of their humanity—fear when they once had less rationality. The fear not of punishment, but of what they will become after it.

Whumpee's fingers slowly and smoothly wrap around the poker again, squeezing it in their hands again as the remnants of their buried personality begin to stir.

And what about joy? They had almost forgotten what had pleased them in the past—now it was just getting through the day without additional bruises and broken ribs, but then it had once been something more. Maybe getting better at themselves? Taking care? Of themselves, of others?

Whumpee slowly blinks and their dark, empty eyes dart up to Whumper, watching the approval, such a rare eruption on their face that distorts their mouth and the corners of their eyes.

The one who destroyed Whumpee from the inside. Who put a poker in their hands and watched them eviscerate their innocence while eating popcorn from their seat and occasionally making remarks, maybe breaking a couple of bones.

Is it really their 'right' now?

Whumpee's fingers tighten on the poker again, and it's just a single fraction of a moment — Whumper's eyes rush down to their hands, their face doesn't even have time to lose this soft, feigned pride when Whumpee raises the poker in the air.

Smash!

A terrible sound is heard in the small room, echoing for several seconds from the four walls, though it seems much longer. It seems as if the walls will take away and absorb this sound forever, not allowing anyone else to enter this room without the terrifying ringing of someone's ruined life.

Whumpee breathes heavily, their chest rising and falling. A few strands of hair fell over their eyes where Whumper's hand slipped off their head, swaying slightly with their labored breathing.

Red. Dark red, terrifyingly red. They had imagined red so often when Whumper said they would bring them live mannequins. They had seen it so many times, whining as they clutched a wounded limb to their chest.

Now Whumper has turned red, has become their great downfall.

The words broke through the thick layer of fog in Whumpee's head, wandering and finding their way to Whumpee's mind, despite the fact that they had long lost the thread of what was happening around them. They could barely muster the remnants of consciousness to understand their own predicament —however, the words sounded surprisingly clear in their head.

"Do you have a goal?"

They caressed the edges of Whumpee's consciousness, the soft echoes of the outside world, beckoning, wanting to pull them out of the secluded dark corner of their mind, into which they had crept in a stupid (you can't blame them for their little sanity, when they were barely able to think without loading their brain to boiling), stupid and pathetic attempt to hide from the painful reality.

But now they were finally here, curled up in this very corner and slowly withering away, only to be pushed back to the surface?

Back into this endless agony of torture?

"Some reason... Lord, any reason to be so nasty, huh?"

Whumpee whined, a soft sound burst into a small red bubble, inflated with a thin film of blood between their lips. The taste of copper tickled the walls of their throat unpleasantly. They took one quiet moment worrying about it before slipping back into unconsciousness. A blissfully empty cinema with a single occupied seat, occasionally buggy screen with echoes of their overly dramatic interlocutor (even barely conscious, they could get tired of these monologues).

Soft footsteps echoed through the small room, accompanied by a barely audible soft chuckle. And then — a smiling face appeared in front of Whumpee's half-closed eyes, making them spend the rest of their strength into flinch.

The raised thin eyebrows, the wide smile, the wide-open eyes and the dark pupils dilated from the faded lighting. They were willing to bet that this face would keep them awake at night if they got the chance to grab a quiet moment or two of a slumber.

Whumper's eyes ran over Whumpee's face, as if scanning, trying to memorize every detail: half-closed unfocused eyes, lightly parted lips and frozen blood like a cherry on a cake.

And this is probably what will make Whumper sleep sweetly at night.

"It's just... I'm really interested." They chuckled, their voice clearer now that they were much closer to Whumpee, almost inches from their own face. "A beautiful wife/husband waiting you home? A couple of toddlers? A cute golden retriever?"

It was barely possible to discern mockery in their words, it really sounded like simple interest, undisguised curiosity. Or just so exposed to the background that it was impossible to hear anything behind it.

Whumpee whimpered softly again, no more than a wheeze, and closed their eyes. The darkness continued to creep into their mind...

They flinched again when they felt a cold pressure on their eyelids. Whumper carefully, almost gently, opened Whumpee's eyes again, lifting the eyelids with the tips of their thumbs, and forcing Whumpee to face them again.

"C’mon, tell me, will you?"

Whumpee couldn't. Their tongue felt heavy in their mouth, their mind barely caught Whumper's words, not to digest them and give a reasonable answer.

However, Whumper didn't seem to be waiting for it. Their face softened as they moved their fingers to the sides of Whumpee's head, edges of their fingers gently stroking hair above their victim's ears. Thumbs never left their eyelids.

Whumpee tried their best not to enjoy the gentle touch after so many hours of torture.

"I know so little about you... Yet," Whumper chuckled softly and leaned just a bit closer, hot breath touching Whumpee's face when they spoke again: "I guess we'll have a plenty of time to get to know each other better, don't you think?"

Pt. 2 - Step into the light | Previous part

I had so much pain drawing this one illustration at the end. Anyway, this is already the second part, and the main characters still don't know each other's names, huh. I think I'll need to make a masterlist soon. Also I'm not a native speaker and don't have a beta reader, sorry for any mistakes here!

• • •

He wasn't late.

The working day went the same way as before, so there is no need to describe anything here. Soon Nervill was already standing at the threshold of his apartment, looking for the keys.

All day long his thoughts didn't leave this shadow creature - doubts and hope were connected in his head, and he didn't know what to grab onto, there were too many contradictions, and he could find out everything only when he returned (which is what he, in fact, was trying to do now, just need to find the damn keys)

His thoughts repeatedly boiled down to one, most realistic outcome - he is actually out of his mind and is hallucinating. But why exactly like this? Some strange shadow that appeared out of nowhere? On the other hand, wouldn’t Nervill know what the human mind is good for, so just a shadow against the background of his perverted mind couldn't look so surprising.

Meanwhile, the key finally appeared in his hand, jingling, and soon in the lock slot. With every turn, his impatience grew more and more to find out if he was imagining all this, if he had gone crazy from loneliness - or gone so crazy that he got himself an eternal roommate, and more and more he reproached himself for leaving without even trying to touch the shadow, just to somehow check...

The door swung open.

He hurriedly walked inside, looking around, as if expecting at any moment that the shadow would come out with a cheerful greeting, like a small dog.

But everything remained quiet.

He patiently closed the door behind him and took off his shoes - but there was no movement or rustle indicating the approach of the shadow boy.

Could all this really be his sick fantasy? Just hallucinations of his sleepy mind, so eager to fill the emptiness of his apartment, and for this purpose inventing an imaginary friend for him?

Determination flowed down from Nervill as his quiet steps walked into the bedroom, where his unmade bed, left in this state in the morning, and the book on the table, filled the room with their presence.

No shadows and no whispers.

Nervill frowned, and his face twisted in something similar to sadness. He didn’t know why he could feel this way at all - his acquaintance with the shadow-guy was hardly long, much less fruitful. However... he developed some kind of attachment to this creature, this feeling of safety that he felt next to it... it was just cold without it.

He stood there for a few more seconds until the last drops of hope melted into silence, and again there was emptiness.

With a tired sigh, he threw his backpack on the bed and sat down on it himself. It will soon be evening, in a good way, he should make dinner... but he just can’t. This single grain of hope led him along the path of the crossroads, and now that it was gone, he felt that he was left without a buoy, without a safe boat. Alone.

It could have been so, but, as if hearing his dark thoughts, a chill touched Nervill’s neck, and the room no longer seemed so empty.

The guy raised his head, and his gaze darted around in search of a dark figure with eyes like two moons.

The rustling caught his attention again, and he quickly turned around. A smile spread across his face as a shadow floated towards him, creeping along the wall.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" — it asked confusedly when it appeared on the wall in front of Nervill, blind to how happy he really was... without knowing why. Although no, he knew for sure.

Without further ado, Nervill stood up and walked over to the wall, already holding out his hand. The shadow didn’t even have time to blink when the guy’s hand was already on its chest - touching and stroking the wall in the place where the shadow was, trying to just understand, to feel.

There was a coldness emanating from the wall where the shadow was, as if there was an open fridge there. He experimentally placed his other hand nearby on the bare wall. There was no cold.

This means that the cold came precisely from the shadow, which means it could have been real, he couldn’t have gone so crazy, no, it wasn’t his imagination. The shadow was real.

Meanwhile, it was still looking in confusion at him and at the hand with which he was trying to touch it. This probably looked strange to those who didn't know Nervill's intentions.

He pulled away with a sigh, unable to stop the smile on his lips. It was real. There was a living shadow in his apartment. He probably shouldn't be so happy about it, but... he just couldn't hold himself.

Nervill cleared his throat and spoke after a while.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I just... wanted to check on something," — he took a deep breath. "I checked... And you are, um, really real. Which means you have something to explain to me." — Nervill crossed his arms over his chest, now looking demandingly at the shadow.

The shadow blinked in confusion, although it was clear from the resignation in its eyes that it understood exactly what he required. It sighed and spread its hands.

"Okay. But this... will take time."

Nervill nodded, softening his gaze slightly, and sat down on the floor in front of the shadow in order to be closer to it, ready to catch its every word. He was silent. Shadow too. It was like waiting for a magician to come on - sitting in front of a stage with red curtains before they finally parted. Except he thought it wouldn't be that much fun.

The shadow sighed and raised its white eyes to meet his. It had no pupils, but for some reason Nervill knew for sure that it was looking at him.

"Well... I guess we should start over. I see they didn't tell you about me, right?" — it chuckled quietly. “There were many people here before you, but... they didn’t hear. Didn’t notice. Or just ignored.”

It looked to the side.

"I lived here. Well, I mean..."

It sighed, its gaze tracing the furniture of Nervill's bedroom as he waited patiently for the shadow to speak again, gathering its thoughts.

"I was once a human. I lived here alone, studied, met with friends and everything that people do, and then... I just opened my eyes, and found myself glued to the wall as if i was part of it. I don't know... how, I don’t remember much, just one time I fell asleep in my bed, and the next time I couldn’t even walk around my apartment, just look from the side.”

It ran its hand over its face and again looked with a sad smile at Nervill, who was trying to make his face as friendly and open as possible. He didn't want to scare away the shadow, especially now, never.

"I saw people coming, there were police, there were my friends. They reported me missing, and I just... I just looked at it, unable to do anything. I tried, tried to somehow get their attention, to say I was here, but I couldn’t, they didn’t hear.”

Nervill hummed sympathetically. He wanted to provide some comfort to the shadow, to show how sorry he was... but the story wasn't over. And he didn't know if the shadow would be able to sense him at all if he provided some kind of physical contact. So he just kept listening.

"Then they started renting out this apartment. When there were no people here, I was just alone. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I couldn't do anything. I just existed, I couldn't even... I couldn't even disappear." — He frowned. “Well, I couldn’t before. Over time, I learned to just... merge with surroundings, you know? With other shadows. Then it was good, I didn’t feel anything, I didn’t see, it was like I was sleeping.”

At least something good, thought Nervill. He didn't know how he would behave if he found himself in this situation.

"Then people started coming to the apartment. I woke up every time someone was in the house. I tried to attract their attention so that someone would notice me... and I succeeded! You see, people notice something... something minor - if I just show up to people, they won't see me, they need preparation and they have to get used to the energy that always surrounds me in order to see me."

The shadow seemed more animated now, no matter how absurd it may sound. In general, the whole situation did not even remotely resemble normal, but Nervill had already come to terms with it. And it was true - those times when he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, it could have been a shadow that was watching him, seeking his attention. This may be creepy to some extent, but to Nervill, on the contrary, it even seemed comforting.

This meant that he wasn't alone, despite his thoughts.

"So you're saying that people need to get used to you before you can show yourself to them, right?" — Nervill clarified. Shadow nodded with a smile. Nerville bit his lip. "How long have you been here?"

Nervill didn't know if they already had limits on what questions they could ask and what they couldn't. He didn’t even fully know the attitude of the shadow itself towards its position - it looked resigned, I mean, as much as possible. He didn't want to cross the line or anything like that, though thinking about it now, the shadow could hardly be offended by him and disappear altogether - they were stuck here together. But even with this, Nervill didn't want to offend it, he wasn't raised that way.

The shadow's eyes softened and dropped to the floor as it pondered something.

“I... I don’t remember. At the moment when I became like this-” it vaguely pointed to its shadow form. "-It was 2018."

"2018?" — Nervill could not contain the drop of disbelief on his face. It’s not that he doesn’t believe the shadow, but... “It’s 2023 now. You’ve been in this state... for five years..?”

"It looks like this." — The shadow lowered its gaze timidly.

Nervill snorted, now looking at the shadow with confusion.

Five years? Five years of wandering around an empty apartment, five years when you can’t do anything, you can’t even tell anyone about your presence... but...

"Couldn't you just leave?" — Nerville suspected the answer. The shadow couldn’t have lived in this apartment all this time - five years - without once trying to leave.

Even Nerville would go crazy here.

Shadow sighed and shrugged slightly.

“No, but I tried. I just... couldn’t get out, it was like I was glued to this apartment, I was being pushed away from going out,” — the shadow shook its head, and perhaps it was Nervill’s imagination, but it faded a little - which was not very good. Nerville didn’t want it to just up and disappear.

It was instinctive, he wanted to comfort the shadow, he wanted to hold it, keep it with him - and his hand itself reached out to lie on the shadow’s shoulder, but instead of cold, instead of a smooth wall, he felt... woolen fabric. He felt the clothes. He didn't even have time to realize it when his fingers tightened on the fabric and pulled...

More brown fabric appeared from the wall, somewhere with patterned seams, Nervill pulled further - he belatedly realized that it was a shoulder, shadow's shoulder, he just pulled further until a head appeared from the wall, black hair, brown sweater...

His heart was pounding, his eyes were wide open, he had no control over himself, but somehow knew what he was doing, what exactly was going on - he grabbed the man from the wall by the shoulders and pulled until his whole body was outside - and the shadow was no longer there.

He rushed back, leaning against the bed, which was just nearby to provide him with support.

Nervill stared with wide eyes at where the shadow had just been, and now only the bare wall, which seemed too empty without the shadow presence, looked back at him.

The body in his arms was motionless. Only quiet wheezing announced that the shadow... who was now a man, alive.

Pt. 1 - Eyes of the Moon | Next Part

There we go with the part one! There's not much of whump here, so you can consider this a bit of a prologue) Also, I'm not a native speaker and I don't have a beta reader, please forgive any mistakes!

• • •

Nervill considered his life boring.

He just recently moved into this apartment, barely two weeks have passed. It was in good condition and newly renovated, and he got it for a surprisingly low price. They didn't say why, but he didn't ask. He is a good man, who can receive a gift well.

His work was also relatively close, so there shouldn’t be any problems with transport, but... let’s get back to his problem - Nervill is lonely to his very soul.

Previously, he thought that this would not be a problem, that he would always be busy with work and would be too tired to worry about such things, but... Every day the emptiness of the apartment was felt more and more strongly, to such an extent that Nervill was already beginning to imagine shadows moving where they shouldn't and whispers where there should be heavenly silence.

This was starting to make him nervous.

Maybe it was still worth getting a roommate?

Or at least a dog?

In order to distract himself at least a little from the obsessive fears that were constantly trying to cling to his thoughts and remain hanging there, he decided to re-read his favorite novel.

Novels have always been a kind of buoy for him, so as not to drown in the sea of ​​​​huge and empty nothingness - his eternal companion.

This is how this book brought him to the present.

Nervill sat in his chair in the bedroom, the lamp stood on a small round table nearby, and he was immersed in the adventurous journey of the two heroes of his novel and the longing that he would never have something like this, when there was a whisper, a slight rustle and a barely noticeable change in the density of the air forced him to open his mind again.

He tensely clenched the book in his hands and looked up.

His bedroom was barely lit by the pale moonlight of the evening, slightly fueled by the diffused light of the lamp, but there was nothing. There was no one.

Everything became quiet again.

The air has melted.

Nervill didn't ease his worry.

He didn't know who or what it was, what this subtle change in atmosphere was, but it felt so real... a presence. And something told him that he shouldn’t ignore it. On the other hand, he could barely think, it was 1am.

So, he closes his book and sat tensely in the chair, looking around with scanning eyes in order to notice any movement, heightened his senses in order to feel any change in the space of his room.

Then he heard it.

"Hello?"

A barely audible whisper, barely a wave of sound touching him, but it was there.

Nervill jerked his head towards the voice, trying to catch the speaker with his eyes, to grab onto this discovery. He felt no fear, which was strange. Just an anxiety.

"Hello..?" — he tried in response.

Silence.

Then, slowly and smoothly, as if gathering pieces from all the surrounding energy, a shadow began to form on the wall - a faded, short figure with disheveled hair began to emerge on the wall, forming a silhouette. All of it, completely, was dark and without outlines inside the silhouette - like a real shadow, except perhaps without the one who casts it.

Two white eyes flashed on its face.

Nervill shuddered and recoiled in his chair, looking at the creature with wide eyes.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you...” — another quiet whisper, as if it was afraid of disturbing someone. Shadow narrowed its eyes slightly in a somewhat regretful manner.

This confused the guy even more, though it involuntarily forced him to relax his guard. There was a kind of security in the air from the creature, though, rather... no, not security. There was an air of sadness and melancholy from it, a kind of shyness, but also kindness. It was everything but a threat. He felt himself drawn to the creature, despite the surreal nature of the situation.

Not believing himself, he puts the book down on the table and leans over the edge of his chair, looking intently at the shadow. It didn't move, watching him in response with luminous and large, like two moons, eyes.

The two silently studied each other for several seconds before Nervill finally raised his voice, breaking the silence that hung between them, which had already become familiar to this apartment.

“So... I've gone crazy,” he said, leaning back in his chair again and raising his eyes to the ceiling in exhaustion. He didn't think he was so lonely. So much so that he began to see shy shadow boys. But it all felt too vivid, too real - did it really get into his head so deeply that it led to hallucinations?

Nervill rejected the idea of this could be real - this is simply impossible, not in their world of science and progress, he cannot just... just communicate with a living shadow, damn him.

His hallucination, meanwhile, seemed upset by his imprisonment, and crawled up the wall - straight to the ceiling, in order to meet his gaze again, looking down at him.

“You’re not crazy. I’m real, if that bothers you,” — the shadow rustled still quietly, its eyes looking at him pleadingly. And wasn't it funny how he wanted to believe it? How did he want it to be true? At least not because he wanted to trust in his own sanity, but simply to finally find a friend? The prospect of being friends with the shadow, of course, sounded dubious, but did he have other options? Moreover, it even seemed cute... no, no, he should stop thinking about it, otherwise he will finally put himself in a straitjacket somewhere in a building with yellow walls.

Nervill looked away from the two eyes staring at him from the ceiling, feeling as if he had just kicked a puppy, and stood up from his chair. It was late in the evening and he still needed to get some sleep before the work week started. And indulging his sleepy mind will not help this.

Trying not to pay attention to the little sad sigh of the shadow that he left behind him, Nervill lay down in bed.

• • •

The night passed without dreams, only memories of darkness haunted Nervill upon returning to the waking world.

Nervill opened his eyes and was greeted by the familiar emptiness and silence of his apartment.

Perhaps it was just a dream?

He didn't know whether he was happy or not.

Stretching and rising in bed with a groan, he again carefully looked around the bedroom, illuminated by the soft morning light and turning it into one large golden cave in which he slept, read, and wallowed in self-pity. Turning his head towards the curtains, his eye caught the edge of a book. It was lying on the table, in the same place and in the same way as he left it yesterday, wanting to quickly hide from his own failing mind.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hands. The emptiness seemed even more palpable now, when there was no-

"Good morning"

Nervill shuddered and almost fell out of bed at the familiar quiet whisper sounding so loudly in the quiet apartment.

He looked up and stared at the two moons looking down at him. Deja vu.

"What the hell..." he whispered in disbelief as the shadow descended, now appearing on the wall behind him, just behind the head of the bed. The two moons were still watching him with a kind of childish curiosity. Oh damn, now looking into that featureless face up close, feeling the coldness emanating from it that had nothing to do with the bright intentions wafting from the shadow, as if it were an open book, he just thought, how could he have gotten away from this so easily yesterday?

He sighed once again and ran his hand through his tangled fair hair, without taking his eyes off the shadow.

"So... Either I'm so fucked up that I've given myself a permanent hallucination, or you're... real." — he muttered thoughtfully, looking at the shadow. It perked up at his last words and nodded (at least he could tell from the way its curls were bouncing) before smiling and- since when did it have a smile?

"Real, a truly real one!" It said, its voice a little louder with impatience, “So you believe me now?” It bowed its head, maintaining a small smile on its dark face.

He shrugged, not believing himself because he had begun to doubt the falsity of his own mind games after only two meetings and a few words with shade, a small smile touching his lips. The same positive energy seemed to radiate from the shadow, feeding this image of a curious bunny with large trusting eyes and, although the outlines of the figure were simple and uncomplicated, they said so much, more than any person could tell with just body language.

But, through the layers of it, he could still feel anxiety and unresolved fear somewhere deep within it, and could he be making it up? Invent his own feelings, create with his imagination the atmosphere hovering around this shadow?

"Yes, yes... I suppose so."

He quickly changed his mind, however, and even he himself didn't fully understand why, though... it couldn’t have been any other way, he thought. When the haze of drowsiness and melancholy that he had so carefully tried to eclipse with his novel didn't envelop his mind as it had yesterday, he could feel it all more clearly, as if everything was pushing him towards something that he didn't believe in, but perhaps hoped for... And yet, perhaps the world of progress could not explain everything.

Meanwhile, the shadow smiled even wider - and wasn’t his smile so charming?

"Thank you! I... really didn't think anyone would finally notice me." — whispered the shadow with a certain note of melancholy in its quiet, even voice, the only sign that something more was actually hidden behind it. The words sounded familiar to Nervill's ears, as if an echo of his own thoughts were speaking directly to him. Perhaps he, after all, found himself a roommate.

Several seconds passed in silence, except for the barely audible trembling of the air that indicated that the shadow was moving, although Nervill didn't look at it. He looked ahead, wondering if his life would change.

But all this, in any case, could be postponed until later, because it’s 8am, and he hasn’t gotten out of bed yet-

As if he had just woken up, Nervill's eyes widened and he jumped out of bed, not paying attention to the surprised sound of the shadow, and hurriedly went to the kitchen, hoping to have breakfast in time.

A shadow was creeping behind him, which he could tell by its rustling.

It was very convenient, in fact, that it made so many sounds, albeit quiet ones - Nervill could always tell what it was doing or where it was - an open book. He had barely known this shadow for a five minutes, but he had already begun to think that it had always been here, because those fleeting tremors of the shadows of his furniture, the short flash of white eyes - he had either really gone bananas that much, or this shadow had always been here, and he attributed all these phenomena to his own lack of sanity.