#charismaticimpressionist

      It was this feeling that had her hopping from tree limb to tree limb with the moon overhead, as if she were trying to return to the life she was used to living--albeit with less nervousness, as (from what she knew) there were no exceptionally dangerous trolls traveling the grounds below. So far, the only similarities this life held to her own included the fact that she was able to commonly find items worthy of her piles on the ground..seemingly left behind by someone who no longer wanted or needed them.

      Momentarily dropping to the ground, she noted a small book--one that appeared to be like the journals she was so used to reading. Picking it up, and fearing that it would once again be in a language she couldn’t read, she was surprised to discover that such an idea was false. It was written in her planet’s language--and since she knew she wasn’t the author, that could only mean that there was another troll on this island. That, or someone else had managed to figure out her language and had made it a hobby of writing out an entire journal on..plants? simply for the hell of it. This was highly unlikely, and so, she put it out of her mind.

      That, or she simply couldn’t find a memory in their mind that showed anything to do with the images she’d been sent, or the murders taking place.

      Looking through the infuriating messages again, she came to notice something she hadn’t realized before. Though it may have been a coincidence, she couldn’t help but get a sense of doubt while looking at a certain repetitive emoticon. It was in his messages, in his pictures, in his alias.. Though it could be labeled as a serial killer’s mark, it seemed just a little too convenient to her. It almost seemed as if something was being hidden behind it, like her easily created facades.  This seemed especially so in the last message that was sent to her..stuffed full of how “jubilant” and “happy” he was to have her play. It rubbed her the wrong way, reading over it.

      There was no one on this island that she could sense that felt so wonderful about a discovery game. No normal person would talk this way, either, unless they were somewhere along the lines of insane, or they were lying. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a stretch, then, to say that this person could have not been feeling anything, at all--

      Well, this certainly was nothing short of interesting. A gruesome little scene sent to her by someone she apparently didn’t know. And this person wanted to play with her?

[Text: Recipient unknown]

[txt]: I suppose you had fun with this, correct? And while it is a beautiful display of your..killing ability–if it is, in fact, yours–and though it does remind me quite vividly of the victims I tend to find for myself, is it really such a good idea to photograph your work? Surely, it will be much easier for those dreaded SPF detectives to discover you the more evidence you leave behind?