Timestamp I

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Ages upon ages ago, birds and foxes taught me my own language.

How to speak it well.

How to shield it from life.

How to wield it like a weapon.

So I delt in ciphers. I let my flesh be eaten as I lived and felt my warm, wet organs spill out. I laughed like a murderer to ward petrification from my lungs. I guarded my sorrow and bared my teeth and flashed the card of Death and Decay. 

No matter what happened to my body or my surroundings, I could always replace my velvet choker. How many heads have I gone through? It didn’t matter; I could make new ones in my own language.

This all lasted until reckless abandon turned itself on its own head.

My shadow and I could never be sewn together again.

But it was all right. Even though I had destroyed the universe at such a young age, at least I had learned my lesson then. At least I could atone, in my own language.

For before I could discard, in my self-loathing, the card of Death and Decay, my shadow caught it. 

He donned a mask, and he whispered in my ear, turning coincidence and loss and death into a trail of feathers for me to follow.

“Make a wish.”

The downy fluff of an abandoned nest. A gull’s feather caught in the grass, noticed by the wind. A mutilated crow by the apartment building.

I wished for friends. I wished for my mother to look at me. I wished for the world to change. I wished for strawberry shortcake.

None of these wishes seemed to come true.

But my shadow planted the card of Death and Decay like a seed in my head and made them come true anyway.

And so I kept my language alive, laughing in the heart of lonliness.

Until I made the mistake that the foxes of the windswept, long-ago hill had told me never to make.

I told a red diamond girl about the god in my head. 

She considered me, and she reached her pale and delicate fingers through the door I had opened.

“Are you sure that wasn’t me?”

Everything scattered.

The diamond girl took my hand, no hesitation in her eyes. She said that she was my god, and that the white streak in the back of my hair was Perfection, and that I was just one girl alone. 

And then she cut off my head, and baked me into a pie. And it was

My fault.

My fault.

My fault.


From the other side of glass, I watched the puppet of me that had been born in the oven. Over time, her mind began to decay. The glass grew more and more opaque as the diamond girl dictated:

Don’t scatter the alphabet like runes. Don’t tune in to the global radio wheel. Don’t step out of numerical order. Don’t say things that don’t make any sense.

Don’t move. Don’t look. Don’t fucking breathe.

Don’t make me stop loving you.

I steeled myself for stuttering time. But the glass never occluded completely.

A white-haired boy with freckles and a secret name rose from the shadow of the puppet girl. Even she had had enough.

He tracked dirt through the house. Dissected a Very Fancy golden, clockwork heart. Cut up our toys with scissors and jacknives. Pulled all the plates from the kitchen cabinet before our mother’s eyes and smashed them on the ground.

I have a heart.

I have a heart.

I have a heart.

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1 month ago

There’s definitely things here that are resonating with memories in the depths of our mind, but it’s too far away and muddled to grasp. But we love you all <3

Reply to  The_Star_Fissure_System
1 month ago

That makes sense! I know it just makes us sad to not be able to talk more fully with y’all ^^ but I’m sure one we’re able to get past more trauma doors, it’ll get better

There’s just a lot of people in here that miss talking to y’all like we used to when we were younger
– Melanie

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