>>94060498You wake up from something dripping onto your face. The black stain on the ceiling doesn't make you feel any better and you go upstairs to check what's going on.
When you turn the lights on, you see someone standing next to your bookshelves, with most of its precious contents lying on the floor. You call out to the intruder in dark clothes with black and white hair and she slowly turns to face you.
Before you can tell her to get out, you notice that something's off. Her face seemed normal from a glance, but now that you look closer, her pure white skin doesn't stretch or fold anywhere. Even her wide smile looks more like it's carved into her face rather than formed as an expression, simply changing in width the longer you maintain eye contact.
Her arms reaching towards your books don't look quite right either. Even with how baggy her sleeves are, they don't bend correctly and the incredibly dark fabric doesn't have any folds in it either.
And then you look at her legs. What you assumed to be a dress grows, bubbles and retracts at the very bottom, with some shapes forming and flowing back to the floor with no rhyme or reason.
That's when you realize that these aren't clothes on her...or it. It's all a mass of some black substance, bones and feathers. The books littering the floor are covered in it as well and the few pages you see have somehow been deprived of all text that was once printed on them without damaging the paper.
You want to run away, but your legs refuse to budge. You watch this thing inch closer, its glowing yellow eyes wide open and focused entirely on you. The most you accomplish is nervously turn your face away from her unblinking gaze. All that accomplishes is making the thing giggle in a bizarrely cute way before it grabs your chin and forces you to look back at it. The sight of its prominent fangs and the pitch-black void behind them prevents you from speaking.
>"What happens next? Where is the rest of it?"It takes a while for you to understand what it's talking about.
It's holding your laptop in one hand, thankfully not by the lid though some of that substance (ink?) is staining it. You recognize the text in the open program as your work and immediately feel the urge to take it back, overpowering your fear.
It ignores your demands and repeats its question. You tell...her that you're still writing the story and she gets dangerously excited, pressing her soft face into yours with the same disturbing smile formed on it.
>"You'd better make it worth archiving, XXX..."As you watch her crawl downstairs with more of your books wrapped in inky appendages, you finally remember to breathe.
That night, you wake up from a really weird nightmare about eyes. You feel relieved knowing that it was all a dream and get up to get some coffee in your system.
The ink staining half of the room and the shape taking up most of your couch with your precious desserts in its mouth shatter any hopes you had. You weakly wave at her in response to a mumbled greeting.
Congratulations! Now you have your very own eldritch slime (?) girlfriend! If you want to keep her and your life, you better keep writing and feeding her or your writing career won't be the only thing killed by procrastination!
