* ABYSSAL HUNGER ;

laughter trickles from parted lips, amusement taken by their quick escape. familiar, it was, watching souls flee from its touch; from its sights.

"fickle creatures, aren't they? when there is no harm to befall them."

unspoken 'yet' hangs at the end of its words, drifting into a low, breathy hum, instead. it was not merely the creatures that cared not for the ghast's presence, but the forest as a whole. observation made evident once a step too far had been taken, left to watch as sights of a grand tree grew distant and the soles of its shoes dug at disturbed soil.

"how interesting..." it begins, observing the marks created once repelled. luckily, it would seem one other soul would earn its attention; one that did not flee. she earns its gaze next. "tell me, are these woods always so frigid with its guests?"

yet, it is this echo -- this memory -- that draws the ghast forward. lashes meet in a slow, focused blink, memories whisked away in a brief moment of grounding clarity. focus held, now, on its borrowed, rising hand. it held no desire to childishly play into notions of make believe, but it did wish to merely taste the spectacle before it.

to dip its hands within this adorned galaxy, woven through strands of hair, it notes. makes it wonder how it might react, how it might feel, what flavor it may hold should it choose to -- ...

ah, but of course. grasping ( however, lightly ) at another would bestow upon it a reaction. attention. the ghast produces a smile, allowing constellations to flow between its fingers. "you wear a beautiful display, madame. i could not stay my curiosity for it, i fear."

"i do apologize, i sometimes forget myself. you can call me ____."

holds the rumoring title of "smilende avgrunn" -- smiling abyss. with no real name of its own, it takes the names and identities of past meals. you could know them for certain quirks and a name one day and the next? like meeting someone brand new with underlying familiarity!

it / they / he / she / etc, doesn't matter what you refer to it as, it'll accept any and all identities! how would you identify an undead shadow?

do not love it, do not humor it, do not befriend it... its' all hollow. you're nothing more than a walking meal for it. the growing friendship just adds a sweetness to it all.

wears the flesh of an older victim, their face now its own. the body holds the appearance of a 32 year old, but it is far, far older. ancient, even.

should one ever discover the truth of its being, its origin... you will be kept close. can't go spoiling the surprise for everyone now, can we?

sound accompanied by no more than the quiet flip of a page and the sliding of a finger pad over paper. there is interest lingering in pools of gold, but it lasts for a fleeting moment. as quickly as it turns the page the interest dies with it -- the book eventually snaps shut.

a hum emits from it again; something low and half-hearted, but akin to a small tune. it plays while it follows the motion of returning the book to its designated shelf, a finger pushing it in place before slipping down its spine while attention shifts.

"pardon."

"would you, perhaps, be better acquainted with these shelves and the books within? i've an interest on the topic of the human psyche but, i can't quite seem to find the detailed read i require."

it would not be until after all had concluded that it weaved its way through the folks filtering out of the dome. hands remained rested in their pockets as the ghast twisted and slid by passing bodies, up until sights were captured by a shade of pink.

"that was quite a performance, i must say."

"do excuse me for approaching unannounced, but i simply had to express my pleasure for the art in person! you do well to make it look effortless -- i'm impressed."