♡ closed starter. @archaevist .
fingernails dig into the soft wood of the desk , burrowing holes into the surface. little gouges / nothing an insect would be able to crawl into. too shallow. devoid of a home. you were once a home / once writhing and pulsating with life. worms wriggled inside of you , holes dug into your flesh / warm and wet places , perfect for the beings that called you home. but most dead now. burned. all your friends discarded. seek out new ones.
look up from something far from work though you’ve been focused on the task like it is. words jumble inside your mouth / confused and uncertain. still the voices of many even with what you have lost. issue a warning : quite the same as others you have given. knowing something is coming. it always does. the rituals. twisting and corrupting. the strange. it is the oddness this time. with their skins all empty yet filled with things that weren’t people. they are all too hollow and empty. cold. it makes you uneasy. ❛ pale things / empty. they want the world to be theirs. but it will be so cold. no where to hide. could you end it --- do you see their plans with so many eyes ? ❜
