STRIX JUST LAYS ON THE FLOOR AND CRIES.

                                               Kindle        the         Light.                                                     Shelter the Light.                                              Preserve  your  own   Light.

“bro, you look so cute right now. dude, you are so fucking adorable.”

“wanna watch this murder documentary with me?”

“i may act like i’m sassy but if you’re mean to me there’s a 900% chance i’ll cry.”

“i may act like I’m clueless but actually know what’s going on at al times.”

“attention: i need attention.”

“i don’t have a nervous system. i’m a nervous system.”

“drugs? no thanks, the only ‘high’ i need is the natural rush you get from commiting a murder.”

“i think i’m subconsciously trying to ruin my own life.”

“why fall in love when you can fall on the floor and never get up?”

“i try not to sound like an asshole but it’s really hard because i am an asshole.”

“i don’t want to look ‘pretty’, i want to look otherwordly and vaguely threatening.”

“i’m the nicest, sweetest, most rage-filled person i know.”

“girls are so soft and amazing and nice and beautiful and mysterious and complex and loving and caring. i don’t remember what i was going to say but i’m just gay.“

“i’d love to relax but that’s just not realistic.”

“contrary to popular belief i’m actually soft and have feelings.”

“this could be less hetero.”

“to be honest i just need a hug.”

“why can’t I be mentally chill instead of mentally ill?”

“this is it, this is how i die: lack of attention.”

“are we just friends or is this flirting serious?”

“i have this problem where i isolate myself from civilization and then get upset because i’m lonely.”

“i may be ugly but at least i have an ugly personality too. consistency is key.”

“i don’t wanna get involved in drama i just wanna know 103% of the information on what happened.”

“i am bysexual as in i’m not interested, goodbye.”

“i could win an olympic gold medal in being ignored.”

“fill your heart with bees. if someone breaks your heart then they have to deal with the bees.”

“i’m so tired of not being a multimillionaire.”

“i panic a lot of other places besides the disco.”

“which layer of hell do you think you’re going to?”

“my kink is being right.”

“my kink is being home alone.”

“you’re really sensitive for a selfish asshole.”

“i can tell myself to be heartless but in all reality, i have a big heart and can’t treat people badly, that’s just not me.”

“what about netflix and kill?”

“no offense but why does everyone hate me?”

“i’m a strong independent introvert who don’t need no social life.”

“why do i get struggles instead of snuggles?”

“if a conversation goes on too long without being about me, i’m out.”

“i’m small, queer and something to fear.”

“all this sadness is bad for my skin.”

“i’m cute and perfect but also unstable, violent and self-destructive”

“i’m beautiful and underappreciated.”

“she’s beauty, she’s grace, she’s me.”

“sorry for being awesome, loser.”

             Years had passed. She wasn’t quite sure just how many now, but enough to get a good idea that it was a while. After all, every day seemed like a year to someone who held something so close for it to be gone in a moment’s cowardice. Time didn’t mean much of anything now, if only to bide before she would soon join her friends.       But your friends aren’t gone,    the bargaining voice in her head would whisper.       Your friends are right here!      With a head’s turn to the dolls that Strix had made, she picked one up, Paultin. Imagining something wild within her mind’s eye, something very Paultin to do, she smiled and laughed, slapping the doll upside the head.             “Paultin, you NEED to share you wine with me. I need it. And STOP playing those bagpipes, you know you suck! Oh – oh EVELYN, come ON! Stop talking about him like that, we all know you – WHAT, Diath? You know it’s true just as much as I did.”

              Those were how all of her days were spent, aside from tending to the garden outside and talking to her Barovian acquaintances. Imagining, losing a bit of her mind to this fantasy she created out of necessity.

                After her new friends spent time in the Amber Temple, finding life’s rehabilitation for the ones she held so dear, and after some careful consideration, she made her way to the place. Various thoughts were curiously spinning; why would she resurrect the people who she already had by her side? Paultin-doll, Evelyn-doll… Diath-doll.

                   And there they were. In their coffins, one of the first times she had seen them since they were buried, and it was too much to bear. Her mind immediately shut off, emotions gone. She was confused, confounded by everything that was happening. It was a moment’s decision, confusion coursed through her as her friends helped themselves out of their coffins. …Oh. So THAT was what they looked like? It had been so long, and some of their features were lost. Paultin’s stubble around where he forgot to shave, the subtle brown patch in his goatee, Diath’s cleanshaven face and worried eyes – they were ALWAYS worried – as her old friend… Her new friend? Her friend, her BROTHER stumbled towards her, arms wrapping around her.

                  At first, she was shocked. But she returns the hug, remembering how it was like. His hugs were rare – partially her fault – but as she felt his hug, his hands clinging onto her robes with white knuckles… She couldn’t help but hear, for the first time in a while, his voice. She tried not to cry, or perhaps she tried TO cry. She was so confused, but there was a void in her chest. The tears finally came, but they were more upset with herself with not being able to truly understand what was happening.

                 Not everything would or could be fixed in a moment’s embrace. She still felt empty. She still felt nothing at all.

                 With his countless apologies came a shake of the head; this WAS Diath alright. Having been dead for fifty years, he somehow seems to apologize for doing something that he couldn’t control. More furious shakes of the head became her, and she offered a smile. It wasn’t genuine. It didn’t reach. She cried more.

                  “Don’t be sorry, you’re alive now! You’re FINE, everything’s FINE–”     it’s said more like a promise to herself than anything. A promise to her family.      “Everything’s fine.”

                    Now, with Evelyn, the scream was left field. Strix jumped, looking at the construct – oh, she was a CONSTRUCT, that’s right – and she looked at Godfrey as he spoke. Back to Evelyn. Back to Godfrey. She’s so confused – she’s not sure of what to think. Diath, meanwhile, is still apologizing. Strix notices that maybe Evelyn doesn’t LIKE being dirty, and waves a hand to release the dust from her body.

                     There. Better. That is, until she went for her compartment that held Juniper in it. Oh no, that was a bad idea.       “NO–   NO    DON’T–”        And there came the screams again; she’d never heard Evelyn this distressed before, had she? No, she was always so happy. What happened? …Right. Fifty years. Evelyn asks a question about Juniper, and she shrugs.        “Eh… You’re alive?”      Hugs? Hugs. She liked hugs. She hugged Evelyn, knowing she was probably mourning, sighing. Maybe things were awkward. Better than nothing.

                      These were her friends.

                      This was her family.