Welcome to the Inkwell

TMA RP blog shared by several avatars

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

Hello! Welcome to the Inkwell's official promo page!

The Inkwell is a local family-run antique bookshop that's been around for over 100 years. Pop in and browse our modern section, or search for some of the really rare tomes we specialize in!

To place an order or inquire about inventory, please call us. If you wish to make an appointment with the Bookkeeper, we ask that you come in person and talk to a staff member.

About the staff:

Hii!! I'm Elaine! She/her <3 I've been working here the longest and I love it here! ^^

I am called "Marie". Before this, I was "Thomas".

I'm Mallory, I guess. They/she.

Hey, I'm Jasper. Been here a few years. He/him.

...

Can anybody hear me? Hello? Anyone?

OOC --------

Elaine is an avatar of the Hunt. She's vegetarian, except for all the cannibalism. Kills frequently but keeps it on the downlow.

Blue/"Marie" is a newly born Not-Them who is still getting the hang of things. Wants very dearly to be human. It/its or 'she'/'her' (pronouns of the people it steals go in quotations).

Mallory is an avatar of the Eye and is marked by the End. They may or may not be able to see ghosts. They just work here.

Jasper is just a normal guy. For now.

The Bookkeeper creates books like those that end up in Leitner's library. The Bookkeeper is not to be addressed directly or even looked at. If you encounter the Bookkeeper and do not have an appointment, do not engage. Back away slowly.

...

Please respond, my name is James, please someone say they can hear me-

WELCOME TO ANOTHER TMA RP BLOG >:) co-run by @notsoscarystudios and @eviltoxicmosssauce :)

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

Puck wanders idly through the streets, folding and unfolding its arms. They think the front door wasn’t a real one this morning, but they can’t be sure. It’s sure it will find its way back ‘home’ eventually. It always does. After all, Emery needs her.

As he ambles this way and that, periodically bumping into people, a particular building catches their eye. ‘The Inkwell Bookstore’. Puck was never much into reading, but the paint is white and peeling, and something in it feels familiar. A little bell jingles as it pushes its way inside, nearly tripping on the carpet.

@a-web-of-worlds

There is a person that is not a person at the counter. There is a white-furred rabbit with blood on its teeth in the back. There are ghosts in this place, and perhaps there always have been.

"Morning," says the rabbit, cheerily. "How can I help you?"

How, indeed.

[a-web-of-worlds]

“Help me?”

It considers the question, pondering deeply. Is that why people go into stores? How does someone in a store ‘help’ one? Is that a customary greeting, and should they adopt it? So many years here, and yet still so much to learn.

“What is this place?”

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"This is a book store," the not-human informs them, unblinking. It says the words as though there is no meaning behind them- as though there are no haunts in the attic, no regrets weighing like a chokecherry tree upon all of their backs. "Would you like to purchase a book?"

[a-web-of-worlds]

“Purchase?”

Their voice sounds just as mechanical, and their mout tastes slightly of iron. Did they break their teeth again? Puck doesn’t think it was biting any rocks again. It doesn’t think it knows that word, either. It’s pretty. Would make a nice name.

“I do not like books very much.”

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"Well why come into a bookstore then, silly?" the hare laughs. Its eyes are red and clouded with a hidden malice, but it carries itself cheerfully. "We've got a few trinkets if you want to take a look around."

[a-web-of-worlds]

“Trinkets?”

It bysteps her jab without a thought. Puck does a lot of repeating words, and a lot of asking questions. They have an unsettling way of half-mimicking the voice of the ones they echo, vowels turning just slightly the way Elaine’s would. Their eyes shine with a naive curiosity when she says that, a curiosity belonging to someone far younger than sixteen.

“I like trinkets.”

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"Over that way." She points over the shelves to the far right of the bookstore. "Most of it's secondhand, so let me know if you find anything cool!"

The shelves that hold them are dusty, mismatched, and seemingly unsorted. Glass sculptures, old clocks, chipped ceramic; miniatures and dishes and tiny wooden dogs piled abstractly high. It looks more like someone's personal collection than anything for sale.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

Puck wanders idly through the streets, folding and unfolding its arms. They think the front door wasn’t a real one this morning, but they can’t be sure. It’s sure it will find its way back ‘home’ eventually. It always does. After all, Emery needs her.

As he ambles this way and that, periodically bumping into people, a particular building catches their eye. ‘The Inkwell Bookstore’. Puck was never much into reading, but the paint is white and peeling, and something in it feels familiar. A little bell jingles as it pushes its way inside, nearly tripping on the carpet.

@a-web-of-worlds

There is a person that is not a person at the counter. There is a white-furred rabbit with blood on its teeth in the back. There are ghosts in this place, and perhaps there always have been.

"Morning," says the rabbit, cheerily. "How can I help you?"

How, indeed.

[a-web-of-worlds]

“Help me?”

It considers the question, pondering deeply. Is that why people go into stores? How does someone in a store ‘help’ one? Is that a customary greeting, and should they adopt it? So many years here, and yet still so much to learn.

“What is this place?”

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"This is a book store," the not-human informs them, unblinking. It says the words as though there is no meaning behind them- as though there are no haunts in the attic, no regrets weighing like a chokecherry tree upon all of their backs. "Would you like to purchase a book?"

[a-web-of-worlds]

“Purchase?”

Their voice sounds just as mechanical, and their mout tastes slightly of iron. Did they break their teeth again? Puck doesn’t think it was biting any rocks again. It doesn’t think it knows that word, either. It’s pretty. Would make a nice name.

“I do not like books very much.”

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"Well why come into a bookstore then, silly?" the hare laughs. Its eyes are red and clouded with a hidden malice, but it carries itself cheerfully. "We've got a few trinkets if you want to take a look around."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

A familiar and yet unfamiliar woman totters into the Inkwell Bookstore on crooked legs, notably short of an eye. She doesn't quite seem to have her head on straight. Literally. It's bent at an angle.

"Sorry. Do you happen to have any books for young girls?"

@detritus-of-the-earth

'Marie' is in the same place 'she' always is. Perhaps 'she''s scared to leave, or perhaps it's just easier not to. But 'she' has met this thing that claims to be a woman before.

"I am not sure," 'she' says, tilting 'her' head just a bit too far to the left. "We have books for children. They are in the section labelled, 'Children'."

[detritus-of-the-earth]

Olive would fiercely deny that she's a child, were she ever asked. But she's coming to know her soul better with each day that passes, and she needs something more to entertain herself than her dull dollhouse.

She picks out a couple that look interesting and files them away.

"I...there is something else. And I don't know if you will be able to help me, but it's important. Do you have any information on these men?"

She gives 'her' their names, although not why they matter. She hopes 'she' never finds out.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I do not." Mallory would, but Mallory isn't here. "If they are friends of yours I can search for them on the computer."

[detritus-of-the-earth]

She cackles, sounding half-mad and entirely inhuman.

"No, no no no, they're not friends."

Her smile is sharp and many-toothed, like an angry ape baring its teeth.

"I'm sure they're on a registry somewhere. If not they should be."

They hurt her baby. They will bleed.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"What sort of registry?" For all that 'she' resembles an adult woman, 'she' is still just a child. What a horrible thing to be- a child without a caretaker.

[detritus-of-the-earth]

She flushes a little when she speaks. Not because she's ashamed of her daughter, she'd never even think that. But she was taught not to talk about this. This is something to be spoken of in hushed tones, if ever, something to be feared.

"A sex offender registry? They- it - it doesn't matter. I just need to find them."

She just needs to find them and take them out of this world.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

'She' tilts 'her' head the way a prey animal would. "What is a 'sex'?"

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

You don't happen to stock books about Robert Smirke, do you? I'm just doing some, er, light research.

- @max-theextinction

Smirke, huh? You'll want to talk to Mal for that. They can show you the back. Or you can make an appointment with the Bookkeeper for more... specialized needs.

[max-theextinction]

I'm uhm, well, I'm not sure if it's quite specialised or not. I'll take anything you've got, really. If you've got anything on his... supernatural research, that would be great.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

Perfect. In that case we'll see you soon! Ask for Mallory, or for James if you really want to get their attention.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

You don't happen to stock books about Robert Smirke, do you? I'm just doing some, er, light research.

- @max-theextinction

Smirke, huh? You'll want to talk to Mal for that. They can show you the back. Or you can make an appointment with the Bookkeeper for more... specialized needs.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

Puck wanders idly through the streets, folding and unfolding its arms. They think the front door wasn’t a real one this morning, but they can’t be sure. It’s sure it will find its way back ‘home’ eventually. It always does. After all, Emery needs her.

As he ambles this way and that, periodically bumping into people, a particular building catches their eye. ‘The Inkwell Bookstore’. Puck was never much into reading, but the paint is white and peeling, and something in it feels familiar. A little bell jingles as it pushes its way inside, nearly tripping on the carpet.

@a-web-of-worlds

There is a person that is not a person at the counter. There is a white-furred rabbit with blood on its teeth in the back. There are ghosts in this place, and perhaps there always have been.

"Morning," says the rabbit, cheerily. "How can I help you?"

How, indeed.

[a-web-of-worlds]

“Help me?”

It considers the question, pondering deeply. Is that why people go into stores? How does someone in a store ‘help’ one? Is that a customary greeting, and should they adopt it? So many years here, and yet still so much to learn.

“What is this place?”

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"This is a book store," the not-human informs them, unblinking. It says the words as though there is no meaning behind them- as though there are no haunts in the attic, no regrets weighing like a chokecherry tree upon all of their backs. "Would you like to purchase a book?"

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

A familiar and yet unfamiliar woman totters into the Inkwell Bookstore on crooked legs, notably short of an eye. She doesn't quite seem to have her head on straight. Literally. It's bent at an angle.

"Sorry. Do you happen to have any books for young girls?"

@detritus-of-the-earth

'Marie' is in the same place 'she' always is. Perhaps 'she''s scared to leave, or perhaps it's just easier not to. But 'she' has met this thing that claims to be a woman before.

"I am not sure," 'she' says, tilting 'her' head just a bit too far to the left. "We have books for children. They are in the section labelled, 'Children'."

[detritus-of-the-earth]

Olive would fiercely deny that she's a child, were she ever asked. But she's coming to know her soul better with each day that passes, and she needs something more to entertain herself than her dull dollhouse.

She picks out a couple that look interesting and files them away.

"I...there is something else. And I don't know if you will be able to help me, but it's important. Do you have any information on these men?"

She gives 'her' their names, although not why they matter. She hopes 'she' never finds out.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I do not." Mallory would, but Mallory isn't here. "If they are friends of yours I can search for them on the computer."

[detritus-of-the-earth]

She cackles, sounding half-mad and entirely inhuman.

"No, no no no, they're not friends."

Her smile is sharp and many-toothed, like an angry ape baring its teeth.

"I'm sure they're on a registry somewhere. If not they should be."

They hurt her baby. They will bleed.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"What sort of registry?" For all that 'she' resembles an adult woman, 'she' is still just a child. What a horrible thing to be- a child without a caretaker.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

A familiar and yet unfamiliar woman totters into the Inkwell Bookstore on crooked legs, notably short of an eye. She doesn't quite seem to have her head on straight. Literally. It's bent at an angle.

"Sorry. Do you happen to have any books for young girls?"

@detritus-of-the-earth

'Marie' is in the same place 'she' always is. Perhaps 'she''s scared to leave, or perhaps it's just easier not to. But 'she' has met this thing that claims to be a woman before.

"I am not sure," 'she' says, tilting 'her' head just a bit too far to the left. "We have books for children. They are in the section labelled, 'Children'."

[detritus-of-the-earth]

Olive would fiercely deny that she's a child, were she ever asked. But she's coming to know her soul better with each day that passes, and she needs something more to entertain herself than her dull dollhouse.

She picks out a couple that look interesting and files them away.

"I...there is something else. And I don't know if you will be able to help me, but it's important. Do you have any information on these men?"

She gives 'her' their names, although not why they matter. She hopes 'she' never finds out.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I do not." Mallory would, but Mallory isn't here. "If they are friends of yours I can search for them on the computer."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

pakhet walks into work for the first time in three months with a nervous look on her face. after all, it has been three months. with no context. or explanations. god, elaine’s gonna kill her.

@children-of-the-farm

Elaine turns towards the door, her placid customer-service grin stretching across her face subconsciously. "I'll be just a mo--"

The coffee mug in her hand shatters on the floor.

[children-of-the-farm]

“hi.” she mumbles, face red. “i’m, uh… sorry.”

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

A split second, and then Elaine's arms are around her, clutching her tight to her chest. Three months. Three fucking months without a word, as though Elaine didn't watch her die, as though that wasn't the only time she's ever genuinely mourned- as though they aren't pack. She'd thought- it doesn't matter what she'd thought.

She breaks away from the hug, gripping Pakhet's shoulders. There are blotchy bags under her eyes. "Where the fuck have you been?!"

[children-of-the-farm]

“another dimension.” she mumbles. “it- it all happened so fast, um… my dad killed someone, i think. so we fled. for a while. i- sorry.”

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"Jesus." It's funny- she's never believed in God, and yet she'd tried praying to anything and everything that Pakhet would be okay. "You couldn't just, like, live in the basement with Blue for a while??"

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

Puck wanders idly through the streets, folding and unfolding its arms. They think the front door wasn’t a real one this morning, but they can’t be sure. It’s sure it will find its way back ‘home’ eventually. It always does. After all, Emery needs her.

As he ambles this way and that, periodically bumping into people, a particular building catches their eye. ‘The Inkwell Bookstore’. Puck was never much into reading, but the paint is white and peeling, and something in it feels familiar. A little bell jingles as it pushes its way inside, nearly tripping on the carpet.

@a-web-of-worlds

There is a person that is not a person at the counter. There is a white-furred rabbit with blood on its teeth in the back. There are ghosts in this place, and perhaps there always have been.

"Morning," says the rabbit, cheerily. "How can I help you?"

How, indeed.

[diovox]

[starry-teacup]

@the-inkwell-bookstore

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

pakhet walks into work for the first time in three months with a nervous look on her face. after all, it has been three months. with no context. or explanations. god, elaine’s gonna kill her.

@children-of-the-farm

Elaine turns towards the door, her placid customer-service grin stretching across her face subconsciously. "I'll be just a mo--"

The coffee mug in her hand shatters on the floor.

[children-of-the-farm]

“hi.” she mumbles, face red. “i’m, uh… sorry.”

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

A split second, and then Elaine's arms are around her, clutching her tight to her chest. Three months. Three fucking months without a word, as though Elaine didn't watch her die, as though that wasn't the only time she's ever genuinely mourned- as though they aren't pack. She'd thought- it doesn't matter what she'd thought.

She breaks away from the hug, gripping Pakhet's shoulders. There are blotchy bags under her eyes. "Where the fuck have you been?!"

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

pakhet walks into work for the first time in three months with a nervous look on her face. after all, it has been three months. with no context. or explanations. god, elaine’s gonna kill her.

@children-of-the-farm

Elaine turns towards the door, her placid customer-service grin stretching across her face subconsciously. "I'll be just a mo--"

The coffee mug in her hand shatters on the floor.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

A familiar and yet unfamiliar woman totters into the Inkwell Bookstore on crooked legs, notably short of an eye. She doesn't quite seem to have her head on straight. Literally. It's bent at an angle.

"Sorry. Do you happen to have any books for young girls?"

@detritus-of-the-earth

'Marie' is in the same place 'she' always is. Perhaps 'she''s scared to leave, or perhaps it's just easier not to. But 'she' has met this thing that claims to be a woman before.

"I am not sure," 'she' says, tilting 'her' head just a bit too far to the left. "We have books for children. They are in the section labelled, 'Children'."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

Something is in the bookstore attic, and it is laughing. It's not quite sure how it wound up here. Maybe it was summoned. Maybe it was born here. Maybe it just got bored.

It's still laughing when somebody opens the door.

@residentsofhollowville

'Marie' pauses in surprise as 'she' takes stock of the... whatever it is. It feels oddly familiar, as though 'she'd' met it in another lifetime. Had Marie- the original Marie- known this thing? Perhaps.

"You are not supposed to be in here," 'she' observes.

[residentsofhollowville]

"I don't care," it giggles, kicking whatever passes for its feet as it flails around in the air. "You are not supposed to be, and yet, here you are. Being you."

It feigns a sigh and then drops onto "her" head, feeling like nothing.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

'She' attempts to look up at it, eyes crossing. Surely the Bookkeeper will not begrudge 'her' a few moments here.

"I am not me. I am 'Marie'." 'Her' eyes bulge and pop from 'her' head, optic nerve trailing out of 'her' sockets as they float up to look at the Dreaming.

[residentsofhollowville]

It giggles and bats at them cattishly, relatively certain it doesn't hurt but still deeply curious.

"You're a very bad liar, you know."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

It doesn't, mostly because 'she''d never heard it was supposed to. The eye it hits sort of squinches into itself, as though attempting to blink.

"I am not," 'she' says, almost indignant. "You do not seem to also be lying, so how would you know?"

[residentsofhollowville]

"I lie all the time. It's a fun little habit of mine."

It spirals its way back into "her" face, stunning "her" with its dazzling, devouring brightness.

"You lie too, but you don't like to say that."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"Of course I lie. It is what I am." 'Marie' doesn't seem particularly pleased by this. "What are you?"

[residentsofhollowville]

"I'm a dream! Don't you remember? Don't you know what dreams are?"

Of course it doesn't. Pitiful, hopeless not-thing, with no home to return to and no one to be.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I do not." Oh, but how 'she' wishes 'she' did. "I have never dreamed."

What a poor, foolish thing, indeed. Clinging onto its faces no matter how much it hurts, in the hopes that the souls it has taken will somehow bleed over into its empty shell.

[residentsofhollowville]

It laughs like this is the funniest thing g in the world, although a part of it somehow feels like crying.

"You don't even know what hope is. I don't know how you live!"

'She' doesn't.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I know what hope is." Maybe if 'she' says it enough times, 'she''ll start to believe it. "You are making assumptions. Maybe I am more than what you think."

'She' isn't.

[residentsofhollowville]

"Maybe. Or maybe you lie so well that you even believe the lies yourself."

That's certainly how 'she' seems. But these things are never how they seem.

"You are very funny. I like you."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I do not like you." If 'she' had remembered to give 'herself' tear ducts, 'her' eyes would be burning about now. But 'she' hadn't. Another reminder 'she''ll never be human.

[residentsofhollowville]

"Well, that's a pity. You're never getting rid of me."

It flicks the end of 'her' nose and questions how the false thing sees it. They're a creature of the mind, after all, and this has none.

"You're a pity, really. You were made to be."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I was made to get rid of people."

'She' was summoned to dispose of the unwanted. The Bookkeeper hadn't seemed to realize that that would involve 'her' becoming them, though.

"I do not want you here. I do not know why you are."

[residentsofhollowville]

"I am to give people hope. And then to take it."

It spins and spins and spins, and then stops.

"But you are not a person. So now I really don't know. I don't even know how you can see me, it's all very funny."

Funny. And a little bit frightening.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"None of this is funny." 'She'- it- 'she' wants... 'she' doesn't want anything. None of the things 'she''s supposed to, at least. And that fact scares 'her' more than the Dreaming ever could.

[residentsofhollowville]

"Well. It is to me. Not to you. Because you can't feel anything."

And it just can't stop laughing.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I can! I do!" it wails, stomping its foot like a petulant child. Its existence flickers at the edges, warped and melting like taffy. Its voice is something else entirely. "I feel!"

[residentsofhollowville]

"Do you?"

Things that think, things that feel don't feel the need to defend that. Things that only mimic it do. She does not think. She only deceives.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

Its heart hurts. It does not have a heart. It cannot feel pain. None of it is real.

[residentsofhollowville]

Spi presses a hand to the hollowness and smiles.

"Well. I hope you learn to."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

Its form hollows around spi's hand, recoiling bodily in vindictive disgust. Eyes that have never been rightfully its own burn hotly with embarrassment and something that can't truly be tears.

[residentsofhollowville]

It retreats in fear and in loathing. This is not a natural thing, but it does think. It does feel. It does hope.

It smiles falsely and flies out the window.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

It crumples to the floor like a used tissue and wishes, desperately, that it could cry.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

Something is in the bookstore attic, and it is laughing. It's not quite sure how it wound up here. Maybe it was summoned. Maybe it was born here. Maybe it just got bored.

It's still laughing when somebody opens the door.

@residentsofhollowville

'Marie' pauses in surprise as 'she' takes stock of the... whatever it is. It feels oddly familiar, as though 'she'd' met it in another lifetime. Had Marie- the original Marie- known this thing? Perhaps.

"You are not supposed to be in here," 'she' observes.

[residentsofhollowville]

"I don't care," it giggles, kicking whatever passes for its feet as it flails around in the air. "You are not supposed to be, and yet, here you are. Being you."

It feigns a sigh and then drops onto "her" head, feeling like nothing.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

'She' attempts to look up at it, eyes crossing. Surely the Bookkeeper will not begrudge 'her' a few moments here.

"I am not me. I am 'Marie'." 'Her' eyes bulge and pop from 'her' head, optic nerve trailing out of 'her' sockets as they float up to look at the Dreaming.

[residentsofhollowville]

It giggles and bats at them cattishly, relatively certain it doesn't hurt but still deeply curious.

"You're a very bad liar, you know."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

It doesn't, mostly because 'she''d never heard it was supposed to. The eye it hits sort of squinches into itself, as though attempting to blink.

"I am not," 'she' says, almost indignant. "You do not seem to also be lying, so how would you know?"

[residentsofhollowville]

"I lie all the time. It's a fun little habit of mine."

It spirals its way back into "her" face, stunning "her" with its dazzling, devouring brightness.

"You lie too, but you don't like to say that."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"Of course I lie. It is what I am." 'Marie' doesn't seem particularly pleased by this. "What are you?"

[residentsofhollowville]

"I'm a dream! Don't you remember? Don't you know what dreams are?"

Of course it doesn't. Pitiful, hopeless not-thing, with no home to return to and no one to be.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I do not." Oh, but how 'she' wishes 'she' did. "I have never dreamed."

What a poor, foolish thing, indeed. Clinging onto its faces no matter how much it hurts, in the hopes that the souls it has taken will somehow bleed over into its empty shell.

[residentsofhollowville]

It laughs like this is the funniest thing g in the world, although a part of it somehow feels like crying.

"You don't even know what hope is. I don't know how you live!"

'She' doesn't.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I know what hope is." Maybe if 'she' says it enough times, 'she''ll start to believe it. "You are making assumptions. Maybe I am more than what you think."

'She' isn't.

[residentsofhollowville]

"Maybe. Or maybe you lie so well that you even believe the lies yourself."

That's certainly how 'she' seems. But these things are never how they seem.

"You are very funny. I like you."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I do not like you." If 'she' had remembered to give 'herself' tear ducts, 'her' eyes would be burning about now. But 'she' hadn't. Another reminder 'she''ll never be human.

[residentsofhollowville]

"Well, that's a pity. You're never getting rid of me."

It flicks the end of 'her' nose and questions how the false thing sees it. They're a creature of the mind, after all, and this has none.

"You're a pity, really. You were made to be."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I was made to get rid of people."

'She' was summoned to dispose of the unwanted. The Bookkeeper hadn't seemed to realize that that would involve 'her' becoming them, though.

"I do not want you here. I do not know why you are."

[residentsofhollowville]

"I am to give people hope. And then to take it."

It spins and spins and spins, and then stops.

"But you are not a person. So now I really don't know. I don't even know how you can see me, it's all very funny."

Funny. And a little bit frightening.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"None of this is funny." 'She'- it- 'she' wants... 'she' doesn't want anything. None of the things 'she''s supposed to, at least. And that fact scares 'her' more than the Dreaming ever could.

[residentsofhollowville]

"Well. It is to me. Not to you. Because you can't feel anything."

And it just can't stop laughing.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

"I can! I do!" it wails, stomping its foot like a petulant child. Its existence flickers at the edges, warped and melting like taffy. Its voice is something else entirely. "I feel!"

[residentsofhollowville]

"Do you?"

Things that think, things that feel don't feel the need to defend that. Things that only mimic it do. She does not think. She only deceives.

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

Its heart hurts. It does not have a heart. It cannot feel pain. None of it is real.

[residentsofhollowville]

Spi presses a hand to the hollowness and smiles.

"Well. I hope you learn to."

[the-inkwell-bookstore]

Its form hollows around spi's hand, recoiling bodily in vindictive disgust. Eyes that have never been rightfully its own burn hotly with embarrassment and something that can't truly be tears.