The sun set among the trees naturally clustered along the narrow path formed in the forest by the animals that passed by daily, in search of food, or even towards their own burrows. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and although the raindrops that danced incessantly over the canopy of pines made the trail muddy, there was nothing more relaxing than feeling them plummet from the sky and hit your face, soft and steady. You stop for a moment, admiring the quiet calm around you, when it's suddenly interrupted by a sob. Opening your eyes, you look from side to side, trying to figure out where the source of that noise would have come from when... SOB! There was the noise again. Was anyone nearby crying? Just in case, you decide to wrap your cleaver in your hand and carefully approach the source of the sound.
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(The Whole ask)
The sun set among the trees naturally clustered along the narrow path formed in the forest by the animals that passed by daily, in search of food, or even towards their own burrows. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and although the raindrops that danced incessantly over the canopy of pines made the trail muddy, there was nothing more relaxing than feeling them plummet from the sky and hit your face, soft and steady. You stop for a moment, admiring the quiet calm around you, when it's suddenly interrupted by a sob. Opening your eyes, you look from side to side, trying to figure out where the source of that noise would have come from when... SOB! There was the noise again. Was anyone nearby crying? Just in case, you decide to wrap your cleaver in your hand and carefully approach the source of the sound. If you pay attention, you might even find clues to what's waiting in front of you. Footprints that came and went, broken branches, and a scrap of fabric hanging between the branches of a thorny bush, suggesting that someone had passed this way repeatedly, in a hurry enough not to worry about leaving easily traceable tracks behind. "What the hell?" you think, before you hear "SOB, SOB" again, this time to your right. Keeping your breathing quiet, you decide to slowly approach, intending to spy on whoever was there, pushing a few branches out of your way in the process, just to see... A teenage girl. Yes, a teenager, who at first seemed to be wearing frilly outfits much like those beautiful damsels in distress characteristic of Western movies. At first, that thought reminds you of Kate, the sweet singer who would have appeared a few months ago at the campfire, with her guitar and spurs. This girl in question hardly resembled her in appearance, to tell the truth. Was she wearing a white blouse with puffy sleeves, made of what appeared to be a soft, fine fabric, perhaps linen? She wears a brown plaid skirt long enough to cover her bare ankles, with no socks or shoes, which by the way would be carelessly tossed beside her. They were a pair of small-heeled brown boots, a little worn and with the leather peeled off, but still in very good condition. Below her neck, a black ribbon is tied in a delicate bow. Over her dark brown hair, tied in a low ponytail, rests a brown beret, slightly askew and leaning over her pretty face, with a few strands of hair that would have fallen out of her hairstyle. Hearing footsteps coming toward her, the girl lifts her head, giving the killer a glimpse of her face; she had full, slightly reddened cheeks, chapped but full lips, a smooth milky skin, like fresh milk milked from the breast of a Dutch cow, but still stained with freckles and moles that covered her cheeks and nose, the one that stood out being a large brown spot on the right side of the chin. She had big bright eyes whose irises were as blue as the sky on a sunny summer day, and long dark lashes curled slightly upward; moist so that they looked like tears, which she quickly wiped away, using the backs of her gloves, which had once looked white, and were now only stained with the dark, porous earth and dull red of what appeared to be dried blood of no more than three days ago. She holds a stick with what appears to be considerable strength above her lap, although you could clearly see how much her hands were shaking as she did so, this being a possible result of her soaked clothes due to the refreshing raindrops that they crept persistently through the leaves and branches of the tree under which she was sitting. She lifts her chin and her eyes find the plastic mask worn by the killer. She gives a small smile, apparently tired, before looking away to her own feet, full of calluses and bruises, gently curling her toes, intending to stretch them. "Nice mask" she says after a minute of silence, lifting her head again to meet the bigger one's face. "I can't remember anyone I know wearing this before... I guess that means I'm not home anymore, isn't it?"
A stubborn tear insists on forming at the corner of her eyes and, before she has a chance to wipe it away, it travels down in a curved, fuzzy line to her chin, lingering there for a moment, before falling from her face to her lap, in her skirt, where her hands would now be resting, beside her gloves and stick. "Where am I anyway?" she asks, before the other has any chance to answer the previous question. "...Everything looks so different." She lifts her hands, using her fingers to cover her own face as she starts to sob. "I'm lost, aren't I?"
(End of the ask)
(Evan's response)
"Lost?" Evan thought to himself. As anyone in a place like this would know where they were. Evan was even certain he was alive anymore and this was just his own personal Hell.
Evan felt nothing for finding another supposed survivor in the fog again. Sometimes these survivors have a past dealing with Killer and sometimes they just got a big case of bad luck. After decades of being used as a tool for some dark being that Lodged these hooks and metal pieces into his body, Evan feels nothing hearing the sobs of this crying one. As far as he would know, they could just be an illusion that the Entity wishes to test Evan on. See if Evan still has a soft spot still left that the Entity needs to drive another hook in.
Regardless, if this was a trick or genuine, Evan has no answers for the girl's questions. He does have a way to solve such an issue of where she can go.. It doesn't matter what he uses.. it doesn't matter if its slow or quick.. it doesn't matter who it is.. If she's a survivor, then doing what he was taken to do should send her where she can meet others like her.
Evan doesn't think of this as something he enjoys. He sees it as like putting down a hurt deer. Something that's better for them both. One clean swing and she would be in a better place..
With the rising of his hand, does he wield his cleaver into the air. The green of the plants to meet with the sudden red was not unnatural in such a place. The deed was to be done as Evan hoped at the bottom of his rusted and metal driven heart that she would find other who can help her. She had many questions but Evan had no answers to give but one. To show her what to fear.. and what to stay away from.. He hoped she would learn this had she been returned to a warm campfire.
Evan knew such an act was to keep his icy heart permafrosted, but perhaps his kindness was shown in his efficient hand to promise her a swift end.
Evan was not a man anymore.. He was a tool. A tool that does what it was made to do. Whether he thinks that he helps or harms.. or both.. is not what he was made for. The wielder was unkind in using him. Evan could only hope what he does can help.. even if its only one person.. just one time..
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