The wind rustled the trees overhead as you sit on a bench with your head down, ink-black cloak covering your form as you simply ponder your current status.
This was to be your last trip to the Waking World, of course, if everything fell through. You had decided that, if Deemo didn’t return, you would become the Limbo itself. You would force yourself to take that role, that position. It was not out of your capability in terms of magic, but you had no idea how the Limbo would accept you. It seemed fine now, why should this be any different?
But as the park goers pass you by, simply not seeing you, you realize that your problems seem almost insignificant. There were many other patches of Limbo that sleepers could go to, that spirits could pass on through. In the grand scheme of things, you were nothing.
Of course. That’s how it always was, was it?
Your bury your face in your hands, your mask pressing up against your face as you start to cry. Anyone who had decided to get a closer look at you would simply see a small, crying child, but no one decided to look.
@himemiyako
