Quoted By:
«This is not significant in the way you believe it is significant.»
—among other various awe-inspiring magyck powers, which (who knows?) could completely also be passed down, from your father, who is now, coincidentally, a horrible talking snake with <span class="mu-s">magyckal powers.</span> Wow. You should've figured this out way earlier.
«I do not have 'magyckal powers.' And you have 'figured out' nothing. You have an almost flawless misunderstanding of the base facts.»
«In addition, you have been standing here gaping like the fool you are. You are attracting undue attention.»
Undue attention?? What is undue attention to <span class="mu-i">you,</span> the sole heiress to the long and illustrious Fawkins line of <span class="mu-i">magyicians?</span> Probably you should add 'sorceress' to your list of titles.
>[+3 ID: 10/13]
That being said, you do shut your mouth and shake the glazed look off. Horse Face writes a little note in his stupid notepad and graciously moves aside as you stride into the chamber, which smells mildewy. Almost Certainly Not Madrigal squeezes herself way against the wall as you approach her. "What— what the HELL are you—"
"Shh," you say, and kneel down. She's even uncannier up close: the facial features are correct individually, but they're barely misaligned, and the way the light bounces off them is all wrong. "Hey, don't—"
She's strained away from your attempted touch. "What are you <span class="mu-i">DOING?</span> I can— I can fucking scream! I'll scream! I don't know WHO you are, but I—"
"If you just told me who you were, I wouldn't have to do this," you mumble, and dart your hand out just as Almost Certainly Not Madrigal twists. You catch her cheek— <span class="mu-i">catch</span> it, you mean, it practically comes away in your hand, your fingers sink in and through it until you touch something hard. Bone? She makes a sound like 'ghrk' and her eyes are wild.
"Don't <span class="mu-i">scream,</span>" you say, and tilt your head, and see <span class="mu-r">thr</span>—
>[-1 ID: 9/13]
You don't see anything so much as hear it: cacophonous, desperate screaming. (God-damnit.) Is it coming from <span class="mu-i">her?</span> Her mouth isn't open, but then again her mouth is streaming and smearing down her face along with her nose and her eyes, and the 'skin' of her cheek is frothing up around your clenched grip. And there is <span class="mu-i">screaming.</span> The sound is distorted, gargled, from half a dozen voices, and she <span class="mu-i">can't</span> be making this noise, surely, it must be in your mind, but she <span class="mu-i">is</span> bucking against the restraints— she is clawing at air, clawing at you, grasping and holding your forearm, and she doesn't have a <span class="mu-i">face.</span> She has a skull— you can see the edges of it, and crude stitching— a skull, and an oval of sticky, shiny, gloopy blue-white paste. A substantial amount of it is still sucking at your hand.
And there is still screaming in your head. You waver.
>[-1 ID: 8/13]
(2/3)
