She never did like being asked questions. Anytime someone tried to engage with the young Totoma, she always rebuffed them, refusing to answer. Questions about her mixed heritage, her dripping body, her softly glowing eye, all ignored. She grit her teeth and would rather solve her problems with violence than words, butting heads literally with those who bothered her. But one day, a very persistent Totoma tried to get her to answer them, backing her into a corner where she had no choice. Either answer, or be attacked again.
And she chose to bite her tongue.
He left the mountains to return to the heart of the swamp, making his home among the swampy caves and warm forests. He never did much care for the ways of other Totoma with their warring rage, preferring learning medicine and mysticism from his new friends. The bugs he crushed underhoof made good components to his poultices and remedies, and when found by those who knew him, they mocked it and called him Cicada-Crusher. He didn't mind.
the world is rotten. slime-covered leaves litter the forest floor, and wasps get drunk on fermenting fruits. bugs tinged pink with viscera crawl on her skin.
she gags on her milk-white heart, feeling it sour and curdle in her throat. the chunks of herself are unbearable.
she's just as rotten as the rest of them.
Last edited by purplerosesbeauty on Sun Dec 15, 2019 6:32 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 58
a spider with her many eyes swings upside down in her web, watching. she crawls, slowly, from one point to another, looking back down at the doe. her eyes swirl and shift on her body, hair and grins everywhere, a nightmare of an amorphous being. the doe was falling apart as she unraveled. the spider laughs, and descends on a thin strand to speak to the doe's shifting form.
"don't worry little loosey one. i am your friend," she says, and wraps her back together. "trust me."
Last edited by purplerosesbeauty on Fri Nov 15, 2019 2:53 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 89
