30 May 2025, 17:07
Hurt That's Not Just At The Surface
πΏβ πΆβοΈπΆ β πΏ
Interacting with @Octavius Bard
Banner made by @Phoenix Harlow
β Speech
β Thoughts
β Narration
Current outfit:
Post-Apocalyptic Punk Day:
β Torn black cargo pants with chains, mismatched zippers, and stitched-on patches scavenged from old band tees and riot uniforms.
β Faded sleeveless shirt with a slashed necklineβbarely legible words spray-painted on: βNO GODS, NO MASTERSβ.
β Heavy-duty combat boots covered in ash, rust, and permanent marker graffiti. One boot is duct-taped at the toe.
β Armored jacket made from repurposed leather, covered in studs, and a painted biohazard symbol on the back.
β Gas mask slung loosely around neck, with cracked lenses and punk stickers. Fingers wrapped in cloth and wire.
β Hair held up in a mohawk style stiffened with candle wax, faded green streaks near the tips. Piercings along ears.
β Canvas utility belt packed with vials of pigment and a multitool pocket knife.
β Black headphones with my magical radio in my pocket
Mood:
https://suno.com/s/D4cbLEwg9ar7w2tX
I walked out of the common room, ignoring my friendβs calls, murmuring to her that I could go alone. I knew that she was worried about me, but I couldnβt bring myself to feel empathy for her- when I could barely conjure any feelings for myself.
I wandered in the halls, feeling nothing. They say that there are 5 stages of grief.
Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I didnβt know which category I fitted in.
It couldnβt have mattered anyway.
I felt numb. Cold. Maybe it was depression, but I was already living in its shadow long before this day.
Anger? I had already passed through that. I felt nothing. Not the soft breeze on my face, nor the thump of my feet hitting the stone floor.
And yet, the nothingness was thick enough to choke on.
I saw her face everywhere. I couldnβt get rid of it.
I wished that I was there. Did she die in agony, in pain-longing that her only child hadnβt been there.
I should have been there, I should have somehow known.
Known that this was going to happen.
But I didnβt. And she left.
She left me.
I walked, letting my feet guide me. Before I knew it, I was already at the doors of the Hospital Wing.
I felt confused for a moment, before remembering my knees.
I looked down at them. I couldnβt feel the pain. I wished I did. I wished that I felt anything else other than this numbness.
I opened the large doors. It looked deserted. I called out, quietly. My voice-broken from my crying and screaming from before.
I heard something. It was probably the nurse. I called out again.
Dance poor people, dance and drown, dance fair Paris to the Ground. Dance poor people, dance and drown, dance fair Paris, ashes now.
β Crimson Sugar Curiosities! β [OPEN!]
2 Jun 2025, 13:26
Hurt That's Not Just At The Surface
He wasn't really in the midst of anything except for a simple process of checking his inventory. He had the potions he needed, except that he was missing that one dose of Baneberry Potion. It's fine, surely whoever had it was not going to use it in ill-will.
Surely.
Octavius still took a note of the missing object on the clipboard and put it up, now grabbing a minecraft comforter and walking up to someone who appeared to be shivering and shaking. "Hey little one," He asked calmly. The man looked into the eyes of the boy staring back. "Are you cold? You know you're more than welcome to take a thicker blanket! You do not have feel like you're being put into a cyro-chamber." Did this boy know what he was talking about? Maybe not.
The boy did nod though, in response to the 'are you cold' question, so he was pretty much just gonna.. give him the blanket. Maybe drape him so he doesn't have to exert himself so much.
Octavius allowed the blanket to expand and open, and he casually threw the blanket onto the boy. "Right. Let me know if you need anything."
He looked at the door, an odd call for attention. He stared at the girl.
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HoM Profess β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’β’ Clark β’ Vladislav |
2 Jun 2025, 15:40
Hurt That's Not Just At The Surface
πΏβ πΆβοΈπΆ β πΏ
Interacting with @Octavius Bard
Banner made by @Phoenix Harlow
β Speech
β Thoughts
β Narration
Current outfit:
Post-Apocalyptic Punk Day:
β Torn black cargo pants with chains, mismatched zippers, and stitched-on patches scavenged from old band tees and riot uniforms.
β Faded sleeveless shirt with a slashed necklineβbarely legible words spray-painted on: βNO GODS, NO MASTERSβ.
β Heavy-duty combat boots covered in ash, rust, and permanent marker graffiti. One boot is duct-taped at the toe.
β Armored jacket made from repurposed leather, covered in studs, and a painted biohazard symbol on the back.
β Gas mask slung loosely around neck, with cracked lenses and punk stickers. Fingers wrapped in cloth and wire.
β Hair held up in a mohawk style stiffened with candle wax, faded green streaks near the tips. Piercings along ears.
β Canvas utility belt packed with vials of pigment and a multitool pocket knife.
β Black headphones with my magical radio in my pocket
Mood:
https://suno.com/s/D4cbLEwg9ar7w2tX
I stared into the eyes of the nurse. It was like I was staring through the bottom of a glass bottle. It all looked soβ¦ Far away. Like there was a cavern between us instead of just a few feet. Like someone had ripped a hole and each of us stood on opposite sides. I felt the few tears left on my face dry, leaving only a train of just very slightly darkened skin. It was like I was stuck in glass case. Suffocated. His eyes were the color of chocolate, warm brown like leaves in the fall. His hair was light brown, and he looked to be at least 6 ft something. I cataloged every little detail I could, no matter how insignificant it was because it was the only thing keeping me from breaking down at his feet and crying till I had no more tears to cry. But my eyes betrayed me, and a single tear slipped out. I didnβt wipe it away. My hands wouldnβt move at my command, my feet stayed firmly in place even after I told myself to walk. I opened my mouth but only a pained whimper came out in the place of words I didnβt know. There was nothing but pain coursing through me. Physical, emotional, mental. It all blurred together to create one big mess of pain. I felt like the walls were closing in on me. Every instinct in me told me to back away, to run, hide. Anything. But I was stuck in time. I didnβt move. The only thing that showed my fear and longing, my desperation, were my eyes. I didnβt have a mirror to look in, but if I did, I would have seen the way my eyes widened. The way my pupils dilated. How they were darting back and forth, looking for an exit that wasnβt there. The way they locked onto his. My muscles unconsciously tensed, ready to run. I gave him a haunted stare.
Dance poor people, dance and drown, dance fair Paris to the Ground. Dance poor people, dance and drown, dance fair Paris, ashes now.
β Crimson Sugar Curiosities! β [OPEN!]