Description:
Once beyond the veil…
You've lost too many sanity points, you get a new mental condition.
They say you can't unsee what you have seen — and those who have once peeked beyond the veil, will forever be aware of its existence.
fragment from Grims Diary:
And so we came to the end of Glyphs story. A recounting of events that she recounted with an increasingly obsessive manner.
It became increasingly clear that she wasn't retelling this for us. But to some imaginary force that only she could see.
Growing increasingly worried for my friends mental state, I tried to snapp her out of it. But she seemed lost in a trance. And, to my even bigger abhorrent, she started painting strange figures on the walls, like some mental patient in an insane asylum. As if to try and give herself some point of focus – a visual representation of her imaginary audience.
A shout finally snapped her out of it. And she stared in horror at what strange imagiry she had been painting. And she stared in horror at what strange imagery she had been painting. The aberrations were rude and truthfully childlike, that seemed to only in the vaguest sense from the outline of a series of heads on shoulders. Presumably a series of enquines, but too lacking in detail to say for certain.
As to why she had been painting this wall, much less talking to it. As to why she had been painting this wall, much less talking to it, Glyph could not say. Nor could she recall what the figures were supposed to be. yet they seemed to fill her with some otherworldly horror. What implications they carried was gone from her mind. And perhaps that was for the best.
She sank into my arms, shocked at her inability to understand what she was doing, or why.
We would all have been willing to write it of as the stress of this horrid night taking its toll on out sleep deprived minds.
Yet — From my position, I noticed a sudden change in my beloved. For upon her rear, where her all familiar mark of purpose were to be, there has appeared a symbol i did not recognize.
This revelation threw glyph into a short but intense frenzy, screaming about the mark and all its implications, scariest of which was just what could have done such a ting.
A sigil is supposed to be a Zebra's symbol of soul and purpose, it is a mark tied as deeply to our being as our stripes. A symbol of our Identity and being.
I have never in my life seen such a mark be changed or altered. What force could have done such a ting.
It made Glyph break down in tears. There was the inescapable sensation that something fundemental had changed. Along with the terror of what that could mean for her and her vissions.
Note:
This could have been a fourth wall breaking joke. But if you treated it just a little different it suddenly became something else entirely.
All that we see or seem. Is but a dream within a dream…
You've lost too many sanity points, you get a new mental condition.
They say you can't unsee what you have seen — and those who have once peeked beyond the veil, will forever be aware of its existence.
fragment from Grims Diary:
And so we came to the end of Glyphs story. A recounting of events that she recounted with an increasingly obsessive manner.
It became increasingly clear that she wasn't retelling this for us. But to some imaginary force that only she could see.
Growing increasingly worried for my friends mental state, I tried to snapp her out of it. But she seemed lost in a trance. And, to my even bigger abhorrent, she started painting strange figures on the walls, like some mental patient in an insane asylum. As if to try and give herself some point of focus – a visual representation of her imaginary audience.
A shout finally snapped her out of it. And she stared in horror at what strange imagiry she had been painting. And she stared in horror at what strange imagery she had been painting. The aberrations were rude and truthfully childlike, that seemed to only in the vaguest sense from the outline of a series of heads on shoulders. Presumably a series of enquines, but too lacking in detail to say for certain.
As to why she had been painting this wall, much less talking to it. As to why she had been painting this wall, much less talking to it, Glyph could not say. Nor could she recall what the figures were supposed to be. yet they seemed to fill her with some otherworldly horror. What implications they carried was gone from her mind. And perhaps that was for the best.
She sank into my arms, shocked at her inability to understand what she was doing, or why.
We would all have been willing to write it of as the stress of this horrid night taking its toll on out sleep deprived minds.
Yet — From my position, I noticed a sudden change in my beloved. For upon her rear, where her all familiar mark of purpose were to be, there has appeared a symbol i did not recognize.
This revelation threw glyph into a short but intense frenzy, screaming about the mark and all its implications, scariest of which was just what could have done such a ting.
A sigil is supposed to be a Zebra's symbol of soul and purpose, it is a mark tied as deeply to our being as our stripes. A symbol of our Identity and being.
I have never in my life seen such a mark be changed or altered. What force could have done such a ting.
It made Glyph break down in tears. There was the inescapable sensation that something fundemental had changed. Along with the terror of what that could mean for her and her vissions.
Note:
This could have been a fourth wall breaking joke. But if you treated it just a little different it suddenly became something else entirely.
All that we see or seem. Is but a dream within a dream…
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