seen from China
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seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia
Hey dot elaborate on your feelings around juuzou face and 58 :)
My... feelings...?
... Apples are bitter... I don't ever want to see watermelon again. But... if he brings me a plate, if they bring a knife- I don't want to ever make their heart ache. So.. I can take it if it's them... I'm poison, but they both hold my hand anyway. I want... to be... something they ache for... so it doesn't ache anymore-
THROWN AWAY Dot
THROWN AWAY - did your muse ever found something weird or creepy in the trash?
Hair... in the lounge ...? Didn't-... Didn't knoooow it...
What are Dot's thoughts on Juuzou face?
"Sharp, ticking, lasting... The... ... I'll keep them together..."
What are Dot's thoughts on gender?
She doesn't reflect on herself enough to consider it and doesn't have the space free in her mind to really ponder it when it comes to others either... But, there is a note to be made in how pronouns shift when they are around.
How does Dot feel about having her head pat? Does she enjoy having people show them kindness, or do they care?
The lack of kindness being reflected back is commonplace. It's simply added to the natural flow without being caught between her eyelashes. Her skin is rough and catches dirt between the pores. Her hair knotted and heavy, adding to the weight of her bones. Her eyes empty and hands only following the wax caught between the two.
A gesture as soft as smoothing her hair down or turning the mirror stops the rotation and brings the music to a halt. Odd, but doesn't leave her mouth dry like tendons. More like a blue rose in nature
Dot, whose room were you looking for?
"... Who..?" Her body sways towards the wall as her hands come up to grip her head. A tight pull on her hair dips her head down with a slight hit against the wall. "Who, who, who... ... I need to... find- Their room was around here, right...?"
Dot, do you care if you're hated?
"... Hate? Haaate... Heh..~ Dripping... Allllwaaaays dripping with waaax. ... Suppose to hate it.."
“IT’S YOUR FAULT!”
Off beat footsteps echo in empty halls. Their call-back falling deaf to ears lost in the past. “YOUR FAULT!” Spit harsher and in a different pitch then tonight, though the lights have always been too bright for her to place who...
Words and pitches always shift under neon lights, so it’s-... Even if they burn, if she just keeps walking, she’ll find their room.
... Would that be such a good id%ea? If wax breath3**es from your s k i n, you’ll only make it worse. aL- ALWAYS- always MAKE it W OR S E- 000 It’ll really be all your fault. AL**&WAYS yoUR fault.
...
Each turn of the halls and knot in her head isn’t something to note in her book. The pen ran out of ink a long time ago and the pages are torn. Each line swirling into it’s own depth leaving her more lost than if she simply follows the folds left behind.
Eventually, footsteps always turn like a switch to a thud and a slow dragging, but never as satisfying as that click. The drop calls two thoughts to mind from the hallow present she was so distant from. What was I looking for again..? and a realization her blanket isn’t dragging along behind her which leads to the third thought.
... I’m cold.
