#kido lore

I knew that my singing was something else entirely. To have the most strong willed people become nothing but despairing bodies. When I figured this out, even now, I twisted the feelings of despair, desperation and insanity into that could be seen as a form of a vaccine. When I preformed, when my singing is heard they fall into those states only for themselves to break out of it. It's why I seen despair as my own hope.

It's been so long since I've sang. So long are the days of maush pits and having the event go on for weeks without me having to quit.

I can still sing but...I'm not her anymore.

I know that. I look into the mirror to see myself. The new self. I don't know if I could be that former self a bit again.

I seen what happened. I've been in killing game after killing game. I always won and he did as well. We won together in this mediocre death sport. He made sure what happened to me never will happen twice.

It's strange. I can feel this divine luck warm my body from the inside. It's so hard to explain. Not as though anyone else would see the truth.

I'm undead. I remember my past. I remember everything. From when I chased ------- to when I was dead. Then, I opened my eyes again.

He took care of me. Everything sense then I worry about the implications. The implications which are the Pandora's box as a whole.

[I might do more writing with Kido's backstory and use her point of view on said events. I also might do some writing on how she was prior to her death. Possibly her childhood.]

Way back before I died hell, back before I got into Hope's Peak, I did some shady jobs. Now, I can say one so don't go assuming! One of the jobs was using my singing to entertain the clients of Speakeasies. Ya know those places? The illegal places known from old prohibition days; cigarette and cigar smoke, alcohol, real money gambling, the like.

Many patrons liked when I was around. Jazz singing was one of unlimited requests I was given. Young Turks seem to come around more with other motivations. I never got much heat on my tails from anybody. Only times where short, bloody, and ended in a big boy meeting eyes with a good barrel. Everyone knew not to shoot their songbird, she had ladies and gents willing to rangal.

Those where the days. Gun smoke and liquor, tobacco mixed in with every draw. All my family and fuckmates under one cascade.