Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24748329-20170612210656/@comment-27070860-20170906154413

Pencils turn all that's ugly into beauty,

Words fill the blank walls and underline all the great falls,

There shan't be a white space the rabbit couldn't chase.

Because writing all of this felt like bleeding, as if the words weren't ink but drops of blood-

Yet the black letters danced beautifully againced the white canvas, the never-ending book the rabbit was made to write. This- these walls are all theirs now. It's theirs. Their words their sentences their letters their empty canvas their black ink their pencil their happy thoughts their sad thoughts their choices their-

And something broke that beautiful feeling of relief.

Something was biting their ankle, it's teeth sinking deep into the rabbit's skin.

Pulling away from the beautiful canvas, their canvas, their beautiful canvas- they looked into the creature's eyes.

They were grey- just like those of a dog they've once seen; while driving around the city, the dog's dead gaze stared at the rabbit's bike. Their eyes didn't shine in the dark, didn't reflect the sheer emotion a creature's eyes should hold.

If they didn't hold this emotion, why are they alive? Why are they biting into the rabbit's flesh?

They shouldn't be doing that, not when Kat had a whole book to write- not when they had a story to write on this canvas, this book, this paper, this mind, this wall, this sheet, this pavement, this pale body, this-

And the pencil was now sticking out of the creature’s throat, it's eyes torn to pieces and razor-sharp teeth sticking out the rabbit's ankle, detached from its mouth.

The walls were still blank, the canvas still wasn't painted, the book still wasn't written-

And so, the pencil landed back in the rabbit's paw, scribbling out gibberish for only them to understand.