“She ran until the forest was no longer a maze but a body she knew from the inside; ran until the mud took her as kin and the thorns stitched sigils on her skin; ran until the rain and her tears were the same water. Branches tore her clothes to ribbons and it felt like moulting out of an ill-fitted exoskeleton, like sloughing a pelt of borrowed faces. She bled and did not care, for the blood felt clean.”

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Alternative vers under bc I didn’t know which one I liked the most (only background changes)

hohoho Alagadda is here

paralogism

CW Ver.2 below : blood

He still needs a hat and I might paint the hands white or red.