#simspgl

please pretend i didn't leave the grid on ok

Day 36 -  I know it by heart but there’s comfort in running over the familiar words, rosary-smooth and deadly. Split, trim, crush. Petals to poison. Maybe it’s slow banishment for unwelcome guests or a last escape for me. Either way, another option.

Living like I have, every extra option is an expansion of possibility, a life bigger than run or die. 

I gathered the parts of the lamp that made me forget I have more options now and repaired it without the time function, storing the extra pieces for an as yet unknown task. Then I took down my mother’s cookbook and remembered. Split, trim, crush. Making method of death.

Maybe went wild went crazy and started ANOTHER challenge just for fun to deal with school + work stress. This is Mallory Verbena, the founder for my Poison Garden save. The second I saw 'steal a baby' in the generation 1 suggestions I was hooked.

She is a spellcaster whose magic manifested Badly and she decided the best way to deal with that was to move up into the hills of Brindleton Bay and never talk to another human again, which is cool and normal. She's a hotheaded loner who loves the outdoors and if you try to make her wear shoes she'll break your nose.

I made her starter lot like an old abandoned park, like maybe this was the old dog park before the new one got really popular. The back of the gazebo has rotted out, everything's overgrown, nobody ever comes up here... except lots of cats. Cats are cool, the cats can stay.

The next part of my new Poison Garden Legacy is out!

Day 122 - I think the snow has saved me.

After Granite Falls things felt impossible. I don’t know what I had hoped to find there, perhaps some sort of community of isolated, incurious people I could move with for a time, but they were the same as everywhere else.

I walked back convinced I was being followed, not from any evidence, but because the forgotten sensation of being watched lingered as an unfamiliar breath on the back of my neck.

I planted out my winter greens in the shadow of that fear, watched their withered little fingers crawl from the hardening earth and wondered if I wanted to make it to Spring and another year of this.

And then the snow fell and I was safe. In this thick, white blanket sounds travel twice as far and footprints stick. Every morning I can walk the edge of my sanctuary and know, by the pristine surface, that nothing bigger than a bird has come for me in the night. The snow has cleaned me the same way it has the landscape, filling in the dark cracks with glittering perfection that will last for a time.