#kat creates

But it’s too late now, isn’t it? Some things, when honked, can never be unhonked. Everything goes dark, and you’re pied.

Names are their attempt to capture that which cannot be captured. They call me the Shifting Mound. A pale imitation of what I actually am.

And then a figure emerges, shrouded in a feathered darkness, the world trailing behind it, its shining blade gleaming against the wooden walls.

The many feelers pull your shape into something formless. 'You have made a decision. It is the wrong one. I love you.'

It’s our happy ending. Just like you asked for. It’s everything we’re supposed to have ever wanted.

This is a bad place. We’re supposed to be together, but it keeps making us hurt each other. It’ll be so much better when it’s gone.

Your lungs fill with water the same way mine filled with blood. In the end, we’re not so different.