>>5332052>>5332075>>5332134<span class="mu-s">11, 15, 11</span>
<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-g">!!TEST PASSED!!</span></span>
Although the nine year olds claim otherwise you could tell she was afraid. The fracture point and void never daring to leave you. Her angelic lips twist in annoyance awaiting a reply. Repositioning yourself to sit up properly, the girl shuffling away in turn. Exasperated you speak. "I'm not a monster. I'm Mortimer, you can call me Morty if you wish." You are unsure how you know but she squints at you, clearly unconvinced. The girl points to your side, you turn to find a large mirror, the frame beautifully carved into the large double doors of a wardrobe. Seamless the wooden framing seemed to hold no handle or method of opening. Another grotesquity watches back. Your hair was bloody, fibers of iron dark and hard against the blue pallor of your complexion. You were a corpse. Purple lips spread to reveal smashed teeth. The clothes you wore were just as strange, a worn waistcoat was unbuttoned and a foul ruinous gash ran along your sternum. High climbing trousers wet around the ankles with unidentifiable biles. What remains of your shirt speckled with the dirt of your homeland and the blood of the soil.
Both pairs of eyes meet in the reflection. For a moment the fear, the pain and the hatred. It shudders throughout you, bitter and cruel. But then it was gone. A relieved sigh whistles out from your perforated lungs. "See…" The little girl insists. You nod, eyes still lingering on the reflection. The child sits up, shifting to her knees to get a better look at you. "What do you want, Morty the monster? Are you hiding from the storm as well? Or do you wish to fete with the rest of them?" You were unsure of everything, mind rattling loudly. Body empty as logic did back flips off the stage into the audience and out into the street beyond.
"The Storm?" You inquire words echoing in the room. "I'm Acanthus. You aren't Morty. You're Lost!" The child says with a chuckle, standing up to reveal her ichor matted nightgown. The pulled back duvet unveils nothing but a clotted spectrum. You say nothing. "Ugh fine, I'll show you then. But you have to promise not to eat me!" You nod in agreement.
