#red!berry

[rawbxrry]

Gray chains. [@yosafired]

She had loved that place so much. She had loved its skies, the apples (and apple pies), running through the orchard and sitting by the Sea of Tears. But now...now she could feel her stomach roil, just by standing there. It was wrong beyond belief, a place where natural order - the eternal struggle between black and white - was perverted into a gray goop, never to change never to explode condemned to be...there. Peace.

And, as she strolled along the disgustingly blue shores of that sea (blue that managed to be grayish, infuriatingly enough), she saw her. One of the last people she wanted to meet.

More than the others, she shamed demonkind, spitting in the face of her ancestors and what they had represented. She was little better than an angel with horns (whoops! Horn), moving along a road that didn't belong to her. Why did it have to be her? Why did it have to be Yosafire, among all people?

(but, at least, a tiny part of her thanked she wasn't a shy angel in green clothes.)

[rawbxrry]

Saltwater amid blood. [@timidisxdelphini]

Down there, everything was ripe with the wonderful smell of blood.

That ferrous aroma spread everywhere in the red water of the Sea of Death, marking it with the indistinguishable, absolute sign of its meaning. Nothing good could come from there; nothing bright could shine there.

And, there, Rawberry was fine. Perfectly so: after years of constriction in the steel grip of the Gray Garden, after day and months of being bound out of her true shape into something distorted for the sake of "peace", she could just...ignore everything. Be herself. And, most importantly, follow her hunger. She was there, now, always, knocking and screaming and howling her presence; almost a creature on her own she whispered in the demon's ear sweet words of eternal satisfaction.

If only...if only she ate just something more.

Her smile, though, changed into a frown. Curious. Most curious. In that sea of redness unending, there was a spot - a single one - undeniably blue. It smelt of saltwater, of waves and breeze. She followed it, intrigued beyond words. A spy? A prisoner?

But that small shape belonged to the servant of the Ambassador's wife. Was that little girl so adamant in her values? Was she so solid? So uncorruptible?

(deep down, a voice mocked her for having given up so easily.)

[rawbxrry]

knock knock

"...who's there?"

Wary Rawberry is wary.