Guilt Noun, : the psychological emotion or moral state of having done something wrong. Guilt was the gaping pit in her consciousness, staring down at her with an eye of disappointment. (or in kinder words, Seraphin's tears.)
---
I miss that kind of misery,
the kind when you were nice to me
but only in the evening
so I ask
Am I just dreaming?
--- "Alright kid, what kind of bedtime story do you want?" Warm hands smooth bed sheets down, a small body tucked between the covers as fond eyes stare down. "I want a scary one!" He chirps, the fluffy tips of his ears, pointed and yet soft, twitching. "Jiejie says I'm not old enough to watch movies with her, so I want to prove her wrong," Warm golden light peeks through the curtains, the street lamps casting a gentle amber across brick stones. The wind rustles, before settling like a blanket. The moon peers from behind clouds, yet remains tucked away. His mother sighs, the corner of her mouth tilting up. "I don't think so, honey." she murmurs, taking his little hand in hers. "How about we compromise?" The boy tilts his head, wide innocent eyes peering up. A slight pout formed on his lips. "But I want a scary story! Jiejie promised me one of auntie's tanghulu if I could prove her wrong!" An exasperated sigh escapes from her lips before warm lips meet the skin of the young foxian's temple. "Then, I'll tell you one story. If it isn't scary enough, I'll compromise with your jiejie instead, yeah?" She hums. "hmmmmm fine!"
Gently, her hands pull the covers up higher. "be still okay?" --- Long ago, there was a game. People would pull out a coin, place bets, and watch it turn, over and over until it landed. Gratification came in waves, disappointment occurred more. Some would pray for their opponent to lose. Others would pray that someone else would win. The stakes were always raised, the risks always grew higher. It was only a matter of time before that coin was not a coin, but a world. Something of weight to many, but not enough to all. In the hands of the gods, it truly did not matter. Worlds were but globes to spin around and watch as humanity flailed and stumbled. Perhaps we were disillusioned. Gods do not care. They long ago outgrew ambition, ascension through will and raw power held no more allure to them. The lives and deaths caused by them do not hold fog over their consciousness. There will always be more. And so, no longer were worlds just worlds. Board games made for gods.
That is what worlds were made for. --- Theyhateyou. theydo. itwasyourfault.
whatexcusedoyouhave? --- Crimson rain poured from the skies, the raindrops but a mere plop against the ground as three pairs of boots traveled across gravel paths and stone walkways. "Geez, what happened here? It's as if all the life was sucked out..." March shudders, huddling behind Dan Heng. "We've seen so much plant life yet no signs of contact? Are you sure there was a group of halovians here?" Dan Heng merely signs, holding march closer as he keeps a firm grip of the trailblazer's cloak. "According to the archive's database, last time we came here there was an abundance of them. However, that was centuries ago." "So then what happened?" The sound of crunching can be heard, and when Dan Heng faces towards them, he sputters. "Spit that out right now!" he scolds, all while March quickly clasps her hands around their middle, a loud gagging noise produced from their throat. (somehow, the whole astral express has learned the Heimlich maneuver in preparation for the day the trailblazer decides to just... consume random things.) A crimson flower is choked right back out their throat, a disappointed sound escaping them. "It tasted good!" They whine. "You can not be eating random plants! Especially if they're not registered in the databank! What if you got sick? Or worse, died?!" Dan Heng continues, all while March continues tugging on their stomach. "How much did you eat?!" "Chill brochacho, only like. 4." The trailblazer waves their hand languidly, before stopping when met with the disappointed look from their companions. "Does this... naturally occur on each planet you land at?" Sunday murmurs, nervously fighting with his fingers. "Unfortunately yes!" March pouts, before giving one last squeeze." Seriously, we don't need another episode of dying again thanks to our poor decisions!" "But isn't this the way of trailblazing-" "Not when you stupidly decide to consume random things!" The other three say in unison.
a loud sigh can be heard, Sunday raising his hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, the tips of his wings twitching erratically. "I know I'm a pain, but like you don't have to verbalize it-" "no no, it's not you," Sunday murmurs, shaking his head. It's only then that the furrow between his eyes seems more disturbed rather than exasperated. "Is something wrong, Sunday?" March asks, bounding over to take the umbrella from Sunday's hands. "I-" Suddenly, the air too hot. His skin too bright and his- his wings? They dont- They don't look like this- Before Sunday's eyes, lay a pair of pristine white feathers, the ends tinged. He's also... shorter? Fear settles in his gut like sinking stones in a pond, his eyes darting around. His body not his own, heels stepping forward with sure- heels? Since when-
"his" mouth opens, and it's then that he understands. it is not "him" but the memory of "something" inadvertently, he's tuned with someone? as he peers around, his soul disconnected from "his" body, he takes in his surroundings as "they" walk alongside the bustling paths, white garments hovering around "their" body. but who? There is no soul in the area. or...
"Sunday?" hm? "SUNDAY?!" His eyes snap open once, more, a firm weight on his upper arm. "what happened?! Are you okay?" Bright amber eyes peer back at him, alongside teal and pink. ... what did just happen? ---
TO BE CONTINUED WAHHHHHHHH
