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Eigth of Seven
Reader! Razzil fic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.
Eight scientists had entered this mansion, plus four guards with rifles, for all the good it did them. You'll give that big black one with the purple fire credit, he was a tough customer. You frankly don't know how your runaway teammate Glenn could really manage to beat that guy, but he wouldn't listen to you when you tried to tell him how strong this guy really was. You shake your head, you don't envy that ice girl that came with him one bit, but at least he brought backup.
Sitting on a chair with one leg missing, you examine the rest of the group that had somehow managed to stay in the same place as each other so far. A young woman covered in wooden branches with a sword, a fellow with energy trails coming out of his body that went to who knows where, a pair of sickly brothers who had grown into each other and a tall, emaciated fellow wrapped in barbed wire with a temperament best described as 'poetic'.
What have you gotten you
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Painting The Mona Minion by Smudgeandfrank Painting The Mona Minion :iconsmudgeandfrank:Smudgeandfrank 232 22 Darien, The Exhausted by missiongenocide
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Playtime is NEVER over. by missiongenocide
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The Betrayed by missiongenocide
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THE MONSTER MUST BLEEEEEEED by missiongenocide
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Irene, The Wartorn by missiongenocide
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Climh in colour by missiongenocide
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A Reader! Emilia fic for Missiongenocide's cursed project.

Shadows craw along the floor as the sun manged to briefly make it into the hallway where you had spent the night curled up in a corner. You hate being alone, especially when the darkness pulls back a bit and you can actually see the shadows form legs and move on their own. If you moved they might cover you up and blind you, so you stay still as you can and wait for the tangle of shadows to move on or the light to move so they will no longer be visible.

You wish you could remember a time when you lived free of fear and delusion, but your life has always been a bit like this. Most of the things living in here are terrible monsters, but a few seem to not want to harm you, especially the one you call scissor man. Scissor man is a terrifying sight, a tall emaciated form with a skin covered in long, sharp spikes wearing the remains of a doctor's outfit. He looks like one of the many 'monsters who punish bad children' your mother was always telling you about, but his voice is oddly calm and his mannerisms are mostly that of someone who is curious. After hours and hours of trying to run from him, he kept finding you and trying to tell you to please not run. It was his tone, calm and a bit desperate, that finally made you decide to let scissor man close. His eyes glowed green and he smelled like blood, but all he did was look you over without touching you, examining you closely, not like he wanted to know what your organs looked like like some of these monsters, but with genuine curiosity. It was him who said that you where not seeing reality as it is, but seeing things in an exaggerated way. Like your mother used to do.

Make no mistake...you loved her, at least right up until the end when she locked you in the closet because she thought you were possessed. It's just that after her husband divorced her and her first daughter left the house, you where the only person she had left. Wilhelmina Parks was a very dependent personality, as he therapist liked to put it. Such terminology was new back then,so you really didn't understand what that meant until later. Even before you where cursed and sprouted these purple feathery wings to prove to you her right, your mother had told you that you where special somehow, and how she could just feel it, giving her even more motivation to scare you into staying home. Hindsight has made it clear that her behavior was rather childish, but at the time it seemed perfectly normal for someone to tell their ten-year-old daughter about the Long Fingered Man who kidnapped little girls lurking in the forest near the house so they never came back, or that her science teacher was trying to flirt with her daughter when all he did was give you a flower on your birthday. She refused to believe you when you found out he was married later on.

That said, you've now seen the Long Fingered Man. He lives in this house, like you, and its not just little girls but many different kinds of people he kidnaps. One bad day, one really bad day, you accidentally walked into where he takes them. The image of the room full of groaning victims and rusty sharp things and all covered in blood is burned into your mind now, you hope that was just another case of you seeing things exaggerated again. He was in the room, tormenting someone...hacking at them, then he saw you. You know it was the Long Fingered Man, he matched the description your mother gave you of him, made of dripping blood and with long, sharp claws. You would think after that you would not be scared of the shadow-bugs that where still crawling around on the wall, but you are, you don't want to go anywhere near them.

Its really rather embarrassing. You know if someone saw you in your state, with your good dress in tatters, those purple feathery wings you sprouted when you changed, and your wide, bloodshot eyes, it would be them who would be scared. The shadows are slowly getting closer, maybe you should move...but looking down the hall, you see a figure moving and it could be anyone...you don't want to meet the Long Fingered Man again. Ever. So you don't want to take the risk, but the hallway is getting darker and darker. You duck behind you wings for safety, but that only makes things even more dark, so you quickly unfold them again and look around.You desperately want to move, to run to somewhere a little safer, but you can't make yourself. Its like you've turned into a statue.

This is just like that fateful day your mother finally lost it. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, with overcast weather that was strange for the season. You think it was spring but your memory seems to be fuzzy about that detail. You where at mother's home shrine she kept to her runaway older daughter, praying quietly that this daughter, the older sister you never knew well, was all right. It was one of the few things your mother let you do on Sunday, as she was quite observant about the tradition of not doing any work on that day. It was something your father, now divorced, would have approved of, but somewhere deep down you thought it was foolish to go quite so far. And that day....mother went a whole lot farther. She had acted fine that morning but now, as she tided up the photos of her former husband, she was watching your every move like a hawk. Somehow, you didn't get the hint, and told her that you where now going to your room instead of staying put a moment like you know she would normally expect. This caused her to literally tackle you to the floor and drag you into the coat closet and lock you inside the small, dusty and dark space. You hate small spaces, and hearing her screaming about how you where possessed by a demon as she ran out the door was not helping the situation at all. You where alone and afraid of your own mother, the one thing in your life that you had not been afraid of before. It was realizing just how dysfunctional she really was that pushed you over the edge and made you want to stay in that closet forever.

Then...then it got WORSE. You heard a voice, a high, soft scratchy voice echoed by a crowd of screaming people. At first, you thought your imagination was playing tricks on you, but even in the pitch black you could almost make out a stringy, skeletal form and you definitely could smell the overpowering smell of rotting wood. He said you where not going to get to stay in this closet, he was taking you away! He then grabbed you and sent you to this house, leaving your arm with a residual sting. Then, just as you were about to get your bearings in this huge, damp ruined mansion, you felt two sharp pains in your back and those wings shot out. You remember Scissor Man telling you they where unusual, but also that a few others also had them. For one moment, you thought the wings where white and protecting you from the full power of whatever had grabbed and sent you here, but he proved to be too strong and from that moment on, you had been seeing things like the shadows closing in on you and gaining hands...like they where right now.

Now you had to go, figure in the hallway or no figure in the hallway, or you would become blinded by that coming darkness, possibly forever. So you spread you wings for balance and run off, leaving behind only a few purple feathers and rushing down the hallway. Luckily, the figure had moved on and all you found there was darkness, but thankfully darkness not as dark as the shadows you had left behind were. You would be ok as long as you could still see, you tell yourself. Looking around you find yourself in a small study, one covered in thick dust that almost seemed to be moving. The dust might rise up and suffocate you, but you know you can live through a lot. You turn around to see that the shadows had turned back into centipede-like forms and pacing back and forth along the wall. All right, you will take your chances with getting suffocated by dust. You have lived through some nasty moments, like having one of those crazy people who wandered around the halls beat you up...you likely scared him as much as he scared you, a thought that gives you little comfort as you manage to pull yourself into a large and soft but very dusty chair. You settle down and close your eyes, but then open them again when you see that is just way too dark. Better to see.

If only you could have seen all of this coming. Your mother was an old woman, you could have run. You'd still be a coward, but you would not be stalked by shadows and dust at least...and you would certainly not be stuck in this dank, horrible house, stuck here knowing the Long Fingered Man and worse are stalking the hallways.
Yes, my vignette has been delayed, I know. I have been busy house hunting for the last few days.

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A Reader! Irene fanfic for Missiongenocide's cursed project.

Your father told you about this, but you never really listened. You dismissed them as the ramblings of a man whose brain was addled by stress, homesickness and losing his best friend in the war. But you now understand what he went through, far too late. Decades have passed, and you've been fighting a war against yourself and losing. Losing every time. But you have to try so more innocent people will not be hurt. Hurt by YOU, or at least the thing you've become.

The reality of a situation on a chill early spring day is slowly, carefully entering your mind, sharp and clear. The smell of fresh blood and gunpowder is everywhere, and the sun has managed to send some of its light through a hole in the clouds, showing you a terrible scene. You already saw every minute of it, watching though your eyes as the people run, feeling yourself rush forward, the hot pain in your hands from the guns your firing, the people being shot into so much bloody mush by your shots, the people surviving the shots and later coming back as untitled cursed who look on you with HATRED. Yet it seems unreal somehow until its all done, and you are standing in a pile of mutilated, bleeding people, with gore on the long serrated edge of the bayonets your body creates for the guns you carry. Looking up, you see a few remaining people run into the brush, risking getting lost in the forest just to get away from you. You want to yell apologies, but they are already too far away to hear you clearly, so you slowly walk back to Dermot Mansion, exhausted and with hot tears running down your face.

You are not a bad person, you don't want to hurt anyone, why are you compelled to do this? What has been done to you? You look down at the guns that are still part of your hands, examining the scorched skin around them. Even in your sorry state you can notice them throbbing faintly. You really have to do something about his overheating, but your not sure how to fix it, especially as your father's gloves where lost a long time ago. Looking up from your pondering, you see the mansion's open door and walk in. How long where you standing there thinking? This...thing that calls himself Shun is not happy when thralls of his like you just stand there doing nothing. You remember seeing his long branchlike arm shoot out of the barrel of that pistol and grabbing your arm, and what comes next is even clearer in your mind. The first time you went on a rampage. Who could possibly forget having the people who you know, you love, look at you with confusion and horror as you shoot and slash at them, people you know and love bleeding. You want nothing more than to end this existence of violence and lack of control, but how is that even possible? Shun told you to your face you where going to be like this forever. He said he was your commander, and you had no choice but to obey him, and so far his words have held out. You cannot even open your mouth to tell him he's no commander of yours, and that you want to shoot HIM for what he made you do to your father. Sargent Lionel Burt Day does not deserve to have his memory stained and insulted by having his daughter run around massacring people like a crazed gunman in his very uniform.

Your chest fills with icy rage,you don't know how but you manage to stop yourself from going fully into a fury at the last minute and instead rush down the hall towards where you instinctively sense your room is.You have never gone berserk inside of the mansion, and you DON'T want to find out what would happen if you did. You could shoot an innocent untitled, one of the those who suffer even more deeply, and worst of all one of your fellow thralls. You've seen them now and again, and know that they are not well off either. Especially that red fellow, he is clearly in need of some serious help, the poor wretch. But you've not talked to them and you know they will be very angry if you harmed them, even by accident.Though that Vicky girl seems...less bad than the rest, you know that even she is formidable. Not firsthand, but you've heard of her doing very nasty things with those slimy tentacles. You really don't want to risk that, despite your own terrible ability to do damage to others, most of them are more experienced than you and it would surely be you, the reluctant monster as you are, who would get the more hurt of the two. After all, unlike most of them, you really don't want to do this.

The room you enter is silent, strangely clean and the walls are covered in weapons hanging on the old, rusty racks. Once, this armoury used to belong to the Baron Dermot himself, now it is yours. It at least means you get a bit more space to yourself, though all this room has besides weapons is the one intact seat you are able to find, the mean old Baron's piano stool, with its worn deep red cushion. What else can you do now that you are alone but let yourself collapse onto it and break out in full tears at the suffering and horror you keep feeling the need to inflict, at the way you don't understand yourself at all? You would have to be more than human to not to have guilt and stress. The same guilt and stress your father had had for years and you did not know that to do about. If only you could have felt this much understanding back then, maybe you could have helped him. Preventing all of this shooting and sorrow and pain you cause in others. Right now, you just deserve whatever you get. You look down at your clothes again, the torn remains of the uniform that once, your naive father wore in pride, and once your broken father didn't want to look at. A symbol of what you've been turned into, a mockery of all he stood for. That is all you are now, a weapon for this...creature to use in his schemes. But for who-knows-how long afterwards, you are a broken and confused weapon, sobbing quietly alone on that piano stool.

It could be minutes or hours. To an ageless, deathless thing like you time is nearly meaningless. You are a weapon who needs no food or sleep and you've drowned the streets in blood and infected hundreds during both dark and light hours. Yet, the sound of churning and clanking interrupted your miserable pity party, and you raise your head to an odd sight. To anyone else in the mansion, the sight of this twisted thing would send them running, and for anyone else it would be a reasonable reaction. You've heard stories of their brilliant but twisted experiments, if even half of them are true than people have the right to be afraid. But for you, this sight is the only thing that could stop your sobbing a moment. You would not call The Endgineer, this group of people merged into a single creature with six eyes and five mouths and all those tentacles using that robotic suit to walk around a friend, but you could probably call them a joint partner. They genuinely love working on you and your weaponry, probably because it doesn't involve cutting a screaming live person open.  

You are genuinely surprised when one of them, the lower left one who sounds like a woman, tells you, "You look terrible..."

You look at them and say, after a pause, "This experimental automatic gun you gave me overheats." You look at your hands,the burns are staring to heal, though in a way that seems to leave some scarring. Your body is amazingly resilient, and for once you are thankful for it, "Please find some way to damage my hands less...I can't shoot like this."

One of Endgineer's other components said, "Though maximizing the curse's torments is one of our goals, we don't want you off your game, Wartorn. We will try to do something about that." Another chipped in, "We actually came over to ask if you wanted to try that chain gun again." Ugh. Not that exasperating too-heavy thing, and you where just starting to feel better. But you know what your 'commander' is like when he's angry, so you get up and follow them out into the orchard, where Endgineer has set up a target practice range. Unlike your other shooting, this is voluntary action...well as voluntary as anything one of Shun's lackeys can do, anyway. Do the other so-called-Vassals not realize how trapped and controlled they are? How much this Shun thing is abusing them? You HATE your so-called commander, he is the one person who ever lived you completely absolutely WANT to shoot in the face. Though you doubt he'd be affected by it much, he's as deathless as you. You look around the orchard briefly, this once lush stand of pear trees is now dead with blackened bark, the curse is not good for plants. Along the far end of the cobblestone pathway that went through the middle of the orchard where bales of old,moldy hay,paper targets attached to them. Your partners stand nearby, offering you the massive weapon by holding it out in their rusty claws. You take it and prepare to fire. Unlike your anger-driven shooting, this is controlled and truthfully a bit of good stress relief after what happened today. You know, somehow, that you go on the attack at least once a week, with the memories of your father's despair and the war he was forced to fight him obsessing you for several days before you are overwhelmed and another involuntary rampage starts. You look at the targets, the chain gun annihilated them all right and you admit you now can aim the danged thing, but its still too heavy and you tell them, "I'm sorry, sirs and miss, but this thing is still too heavy to use comfortably."

But they way they looked at you...that was not them, their personal eyes where relaxed, and the central one was staring at you hungrily, "Good..." One of them rasped. That was not Endgineer, that was not your partners, that was Shun's influence talking, and before you can run they are on you, trying to use a blowtorch to attach the chaingun to your hand. You have no choice but to smash them over their collective body-head with the overweight weapon and flee back into the house. A muffled scream of agony signified another shift, finally, things are going your way. The whole mansion buckles and twists like it was alive, forming into a new configuration. You can only grab the wall and keep your footing until it is done, its impossible to walk around during these shifts that happen like clockwork to this building, or do much at all except hope you don't fall or end up literally running into a fellow sufferer.

After a few seconds, you look around. You have no idea where you are, but you have at least lost the temporarily crazed Endgineer. You are alone, but that is a relief for now. They will get better and regain their sanity, while you cannot help but feel like you are certainly going to lose yours if this situation keeps up, if this being forced to watch while you mutilate and maul and blaze guns into people who can't fight back really is eternal like you've been told. As it was, you sit on the dirty floor and consider that you are not the only one with no free will. None of the victims of this situation have any control over their lives, your just the one who knows it the most.

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A Reader! Glenn fanfic for Missiongenocide's Cursed Project

Burn in Hell. People throw that phrase around like they know what it means. How stupid can you get? You know what that means. You know what that means all too well. Its true that you are surrounded by some very sad sacks. Its not like you don't feel for these people, your not some psychopath. Its just that this doesn't make what you've been through any less relevant.

You look down the rotten, crumbling hallway for him. The person who is responsible for how you are. Shun made all the others who where helped by that mysterious woman, Claire, how they are. Its only fair they go after him. You know it was not him who did this to you. Made you understand what burn in Hell meant. What it REALLY meant. That memory was still vivid in your mind. Your not going to convince yourself your life was perfect before, that's just stupid. But you know that you had it pretty good before, and that your simple attempt to save your family from the damage that was piling up because of HIM should not have been punished. You did not see your attacker clearly, he was wreathed in fire of an unnatural blue-violet and this hid most of him, but you could see he was pitch black, like charcoal, and had singled you out on purpose. Going after your little sister Flora and your older brother Ash and having them go up like so much tinder. If the human body is mostly water, how come it burns so well? You had that unnatural fire burned in your mind, isn't that just appropriate?

When you heard that scientist describing how the person who attacked his friends was also using that purple-blue fire, you could feel your flames leap. They responded to your emotional extremes, especially the bright rage that comes to you whenever you think of that fire. The pain they still give you in places is like...like having your body overloaded. You still remember thirty-something years of your body being swallowed by heat and intense pain, wandering around blind and screaming. You don't know who told you he knew who the fire user was, but you thank him greatly. Even back then, with your body one mass of searing pain, you tried to find the man who killed your whole family in one blow then told you in his frigid voice that they where just going to hurt you eventually and he was doing you a favor. Justifications like that make you sick, which is quite a something since you don't think you have a stomach anymore. Your body's outside has mostly healed, but you where mostly fire all through,  there would have been a lot of damage to your insides. They don't heal as fast, if what that scientist said was true. You certainly feel like your insides are still burning.

You see movement up ahead and move towards the menacing shape, perhaps this is the purple fire man you've been looking for. It was certainly the right size and looked ominous enough. You quickly walk forward, trying to avoid the urge to run despite the fact that another shift could come at any moment. You needed to conserve your energy for the fight ahead. You did not train constantly like the group you left, you know your strong enough to take this guy on, especially if you catch him off guard. So you stride forward and try not to blaze up despite the fact your so tense you feel like a stiff board. There you are, right on top of him and he's distracted! You lunge, letting your rage take over. Now was not a time for thinking, and with most of your body surging with hot pain, you are reminded of what has been done to the people you cared about.

Except that is NOT the man with the purple-blue fire. Your flaming hand has grabbed around a long snaky thing that looks a bit like an elephant's trunk, and it doesn't look happy about what you did, and you hear a high scream like your sister Flora did when she was a baby and needed her diaper changed, only about twelve times worse. You turn and lower your flames a bit to see what it was, and you found yourself staring into a slightly eerie yet oddly cute face staring back, its eyes big and black and unblinking, its mouth and nose small and round, and its hair a messy blonde-white. That was not your enemy at all, and in your recklessness you likely caused so much noise the fire man has fled if he was anywhere close. Now you are backing away and saying, "I'm really sorry, I thought you where somebody else!" to a very upset looking giant winged baby with a monstrous mouthed tentacle coming out of its stomach. And that monstrous mouthed tentacle was not in the mood for forgiveness!

You think of running, but the image of your mother Juniper dying screaming filled your mind, even in the heat of battle. You promised her not to ever give up in finding who did this, regardless of the obstacles. Even as your attackers eyes give you a vaguely apologetic look that surprises you. If he is sorry, why is he fighting you? But you can ponder that later, now is the time that you have to fight. So you refocus yourself, using the pain in your hands, left side and right side of your face to focus yourself, and try to land a punch on the twisting, fast-moving mouthed tentacle. You know very well how much your flaming hands could harm, after all you felt that pain every minute, and a part of you felt pretty good about inflicting it briefly on an opponent. After all, they, like you, would heal from it.

You where not having a very good time with hitting it, and the big baby attached to it was whining and distracting you while you where trying to hit the thing. You tell your opponent, "Shut it!" And try to rush in and grab the thing since punching wasn't working. You felt four sharp pains in your chest, looking down at your embarrassingly bony body you see that the mouthed tentacle's pincers have dug into your body, and now it was rearing up in front of you. You tried to move, but your body did not respond, and the tentacle slammed you into the wall, knocking the breath out of your lungs and causing you to cough up ash. You struggle to get out from under the thing, but it was keeping you pinned, "Get off of me!" You gasp, but its clear the big baby and the tentacle monster attached to it was not going to do that. You where stuck, and winced a bit as the jaw of the monster bit into your stomach and tried to tear you open like a Christmas gift. You blaze as high as you dare, despite the terrible pain it causes you, the flames slowly spreading all over your body except your head, but the tentacle's mouth stays clamped. This big tentacle thing was pretty determined, you will give it that. You look at the main body of your assailant, he's crying a little...maybe he was ordered to attack you and would rather not. It hardly mattered, it seems like you are quite stuck and not going to win this one. But as you remember your parents, your sister and your brother, and decide you will go down fighting before being torn to pieces. Its not like having your stomach ripped open could hurt more than these flames.

You suddenly hear a sudden, sharp sound and turn your head to see what it was. The tentacle twitched and the big baby screeched like a damsel in an old horror movie from the pain of having five sharp icicles jabbed through the tentacle, confirming that despite having a mind of its own to a degree, the tentacle was still part of its body. Despite all that has happened, the death of your family, your own fiery damnation, the years of blindness and pain and the many fights you have gotten into, one good thing had come out of all of this. And she was standing with the light of a large dirty window to her back. The faint beige light shone from behind her, highlighting the sharp edges of icicles, the gaping hole in her torso and the icicles within it, and her clear blue eyes which currently took on a wholly unfamiliar expression that was beautiful in how terrifying is was.

Sylvia, your dear Sylvie. You had been tasked with melting her out of the ice, and with a touch you felt like a cool breeze had hit you. Now the room temperature started to drop and a little bit of what you had seen when you first went to rescue her started to come back into the room. You remembered walking through the twisted, frozen passages of the cave you had all found her in, a world of razor sharp icicles. Claire's powers had caused the ice to dissipate, and your fiery nature had taken care of the rest of the ice, but all that strange white glow did was make it turn down. And now, the room was getting colder and colder, you could feel it getting so cold that your own heat started to give you less discomfort. Fog formed in the cold air and ice started to form on the walls and floor closest to Sylvia, her glare directed at the big baby and tentacle even more frigid. Winter was awake.

She charged the mouthed tentacle a moment later, and while it let go of you and let you fall to the floor to go after her, you took a moment longer to stand up. You watched and saw that already the burned areas on your body were starting to heal, so you yelled at the monster you accidentally attacked to distract it so Sylvia could act. And she was acting, forming icicles all over her body and grabbing the tentacle into a freezing, spiky bear hug. The baby screamed again, this time even louder. You tell Sylvie, "He's not the enemy, focus on the tentacle!" Poor Sylvia is mute. Her throat is frozen over so the air cannot pass over her voice box, meaning she can't make as sound. But she nodded at you, showing she heard you, and focused on keeping the tentacle in her grip, slowly freezing it solid.

You would not be reckless this time, the mouth was close but you had to strike at just the right moment. Hot pain started to course all over you again, ugh, you hated how much your powers hurt. It was the sting in the tail of the gift Claire gave you, the gift you would use to demolish the fire man and then go back to help her in return for the favor she had given you. You do want this curse thing to end, so you can stop fighting and be with Sylvie and even actually grow up and old together, if this all works out. You'll miss the fresh chill you feel when you touch her now, and she won't be half as pretty without that white hair, but that is what your really want. You just can't go and ignore that human piece of horse crap that destroyed your family and your life, even for the sake of something as important as ending everyone's suffering. You also can't ignore that the tentacle's mouth is now in range.

Flaring up like a campfire covered in gasoline, you ram yourself right into the mouth of the tentacle and it writhes in pain. The big baby screams even louder, and finally goes into retreat, leaving you two alone in the room with nothing but blood, ash and a few dirty white feathers to show of your fight. In Dermot Mansion, the only reward for victory is not having your insides become your outsides. Sylvia runs up and hugs you, sending a soft chill through you and making your muscles relax. When this is all over, you are going to miss that subtle coolness just a bit. You look down at Sylvie's haunting blue eyes, which have lost their anger and resumed their usual look of silent concern, "I'm in once piece, don't worry." You say as you start walking again, start searching for the man with the purple-blue fire again.

You wish you could stop and be with Sylvie, who looked so lovely right now despite the fact she was bleeding a bit from having to form so many icicles through her skin. You gently take the remains of your sweater and start to dab the blood up before it finally freezes and you can stop. She looked at you walking away, a questioning expression on her face.

You say, "I made a mistake and attacked the wrong person. I'm sorry Sylvie, I really thought that big baby was him." Sylvia seems a bit annoyed, but she still holds your hand a moment to show she forgives your mistake.  

Now to keep looking. You only will feel like anything you do from now on matters if that monster is in the ground and burned to a black cinder like you where for decades. Its the most important thing and all the rest can come later, after you make your family's murderer understand what he's done. He's made the mistake of cursing you. It means you are alive, and living for the sake of taking him out.  
Rose the Manaic
Rose never grew up to be the person her mother wanted her to. She played with the boys and only wore dresses on special occasions, and climbed trees. It all drove her mother up the wall, and she always shouted at Rose about why she could not be different, planting the seed of self-loathing and anger that the infamous spellcaster known only as Lady Hex was quick to take advantage of. Finally their conflict came to physical blows, and at that moment her own mother assaulted her with a kitchen knife, she changed into a Maniac Undying from the spell of Hex's that had lain dormant inside her for years.

But as a member of the vaunted Exploration Society, she can finally start to slowly overcome her years as a thrall of Lady Hex's using her water magic on villains and protecting other explorers from harm. There is a part of her that still whispers that she's no better than those she fights, don't get me wrong, but others are starting to see what her mother could not.
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Wintereye111
Jessica Brooke
Canada
A multi-subject artist, trying to avoid suspicion and spread creativity. I prefer fanart, but might do something original once in a while, to.
Interests
Look at this, you get a free poem while I explain my new Don't Stave fanart project. My first 'story through pictures' style fanart. So..here goes.

When infinite realms are in the shadows grasp.
Careful avoidance of anyone who would be missed is an important task.
But sometimes, it does not go as planned alas.
And the darkest chapter of the ink-black story does begin.

Wilson and Maxwell, former enemies, huddle in a strange cold breeze.
It should be summer, autumn soon coming.
But the chill is very great.
A premature winter weather movement?
But the throne is now United. Queen and King should be one.
There should be no power greater!
But it seems...there was one.

In recent days, the selection was altered.
Charlie, both King and Queen, had this once faltered.
Someone passed who should have not passed.
Someone with a god's long gaze.
Despite his body a frail and mortal shell.
This one, He who Unstands.
Conquered the wilderness land.
Without turning back, he saw the Seats all before his eyes.
Maxwell the Creator, Wilson the Heir, Willow the Destroyer, Woodie the Savage, Wendy the Medium, and all the rest. Each really thought that they where best.
Once again, in temporal cycle round.
This strange visitor found himself bound.
He easily overcame the crumbling tests.
Put up by old Maxy to challenge the rest.
Though small and frail, he now beheld.
The flower-strewn Throne, Charlie's power seeping through.
Oh, how that once innocent woman had done more harm than all of them together!
He would defeat her, and destroy that throne forever!
Three days battle finally felled the Queen and King as one.
But our story, it seems, has only begun.
The Cycle of kings once again begins its horrid spell.
As certain as the certainty of a clock striking twelve.
The throne's flowers fell, and even though the intruder could,
in an instant, go from here to there, the flower gates had slammed shut.
He could run absolutely nowhere. Charlie laughed, and Maxwell raised his head, looking grim.
He said, "I'm sure of it, the shadows have taken him."
Wilson was about to ask who his sorry former nemesis alluded,
when he heard a gasp, and turned to see the grim events concluded.
Black tendrils grew razor thorns, and bit into white bone.
And thus, the only one who could have saved them all was bound upon the Throne.
And so the growing icy chill bit deeper, deeper to the core.
A low deep icy voice declared what all would have in store,
"I am not like the other rulers. I will not be going home. If I must, I will wipe,
this land clean and close the holes. No one else will enter this place, no one else will leave. No one else will be around, and I will stay forever bound."
Wilson tried to raise a cry, but the voice spoke back, "I'd like to see you try. Kill the world and everything in it, I will just drag you to Hell. I've seen enough to wish to make anyone cry. It's all happened to me before, no one else is getting hurt. So be quiet...or you'll die."

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:iconsinistrosephosphate:
SinistrosePhosphate Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Greetings, 

Thank you very much for adding my work to your list of favourites. I appreciate your support very much (especially when it comes to a fellow Canadian). Much obliged!

With gratitude,
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SonicMasterHero Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2014
W-Wow...u dont have any friends.....
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