[ yes, because a tiny fourteen-year-old girlchild in a tattered frilly dress is murder suspect zero, the mastermind behind this torturous mansion and the destroyer of all things good...! the most intimidating part of her, of course, is the terrified shaking of her limbs, the sort that starts in her tremoring boots and ends in someone else's, kept together only through sheer force of will and the iron-tight grip on the... dog plushie...? being held between her hands like a prayer.
she hasn't noticed the dried blood on it yet. nope. she's certainly not noticing that, because the all-too-fresh blood on the murder victim is just a little more pressing of a concern at this very moment. the small girl takes a tentative step forward, blue eyes wide with terror and worry all rolled up into one as obligation takes her forward in spite of her fear -- is he dead? is he really dead? there's so, so much blood, but she's seen something similar to this before, and back then--
if you've ever wondered what the sound of a mute fourteen-year-old girl running the hell away was like, it kind of starts like this: a startled, soundless scream, the frantic flutter of a pair of small, white wings beating the air, and the panicked sound of bare feet hitting the wood, 0.3 seconds before those two double doors slam open.
by the time anyone's managed to peer in, nill's already across the room, her tiny wings standing up poised like knives to cut as she jams herself underneath a chair, the dog plush with the dried blood held in front of her menacingly. she's going to murder you with it if you even think of stepping her way, okay, or so her trembling bottom lip promises, her body shaking so badly that the chair itself rattles against the wall.
terror comes in small packages, but in this case, so does the terrified. ]
phase iii.
[ look, in nill's defense, gossip is all good and well, and nill certainly has nothing to hide if it'll get her upstairs and out a door to safety, but isn't this situation kind of disadvantageous for those who're mute...? is what nill would think if she were a little more bitter, a little more annoyed. as it stands now, however, all she's done for the past half hour is give the stairs pleading looks that were, unsurprisingly enough, ignored, and completely and utterly failing to climb those stairs on her own. unfortunately, staircases aren't really known for their amazing powers of empathy, and nill isn't really known for her penchant to give up -- so the stalemate continued. that is, until you came about.
you could be climbing those stairs like a trooper gunning for the last cookie in the cookie jar, three steps away from finally getting out of the clusterfuck that is these staircases from hell, when all of a sudden, and it really is always all of a sudden, the stairs decide that they've been lenient enough, and unceremoniously dump you down the side like a sack of potatoes.
amazingly enough, the first thing you'll see below you is not the creaky wooden floors that will soon become intimate with your face, and instead is a little tiny bird of a small girlchild flinging herself underneath you, her eyes taking on the light of frenzied determination and small wings set into a stubborn line as she-- wait, is she trying to catch you?!
11/10 for guts, one portrait flips a sign, while the other one gives a 0.5/10 for intelligence, would vine again. but dammit, she is not going to let you fall...!
... she probably doesn't have a choice in the matter, huh. ]
nill. dogs
[ yes, because a tiny fourteen-year-old girlchild in a tattered frilly dress is murder suspect zero, the mastermind behind this torturous mansion and the destroyer of all things good...! the most intimidating part of her, of course, is the terrified shaking of her limbs, the sort that starts in her tremoring boots and ends in someone else's, kept together only through sheer force of will and the iron-tight grip on the... dog plushie...? being held between her hands like a prayer.
she hasn't noticed the dried blood on it yet. nope. she's certainly not noticing that, because the all-too-fresh blood on the murder victim is just a little more pressing of a concern at this very moment. the small girl takes a tentative step forward, blue eyes wide with terror and worry all rolled up into one as obligation takes her forward in spite of her fear -- is he dead? is he really dead? there's so, so much blood, but she's seen something similar to this before, and back then--
if you've ever wondered what the sound of a mute fourteen-year-old girl running the hell away was like, it kind of starts like this: a startled, soundless scream, the frantic flutter of a pair of small, white wings beating the air, and the panicked sound of bare feet hitting the wood, 0.3 seconds before those two double doors slam open.
by the time anyone's managed to peer in, nill's already across the room, her tiny wings standing up poised like knives to cut as she jams herself underneath a chair, the dog plush with the dried blood held in front of her menacingly. she's going to murder you with it if you even think of stepping her way, okay, or so her trembling bottom lip promises, her body shaking so badly that the chair itself rattles against the wall.
terror comes in small packages, but in this case, so does the terrified. ]
phase iii.
[ look, in nill's defense, gossip is all good and well, and nill certainly has nothing to hide if it'll get her upstairs and out a door to safety, but isn't this situation kind of disadvantageous for those who're mute...? is what nill would think if she were a little more bitter, a little more annoyed. as it stands now, however, all she's done for the past half hour is give the stairs pleading looks that were, unsurprisingly enough, ignored, and completely and utterly failing to climb those stairs on her own. unfortunately, staircases aren't really known for their amazing powers of empathy, and nill isn't really known for her penchant to give up -- so the stalemate continued. that is, until you came about.
you could be climbing those stairs like a trooper gunning for the last cookie in the cookie jar, three steps away from finally getting out of the clusterfuck that is these staircases from hell, when all of a sudden, and it really is always all of a sudden, the stairs decide that they've been lenient enough, and unceremoniously dump you down the side like a sack of potatoes.
amazingly enough, the first thing you'll see below you is not the creaky wooden floors that will soon become intimate with your face, and instead is a little tiny bird of a small girlchild flinging herself underneath you, her eyes taking on the light of frenzied determination and small wings set into a stubborn line as she-- wait, is she trying to catch you?!
11/10 for guts, one portrait flips a sign, while the other one gives a 0.5/10 for intelligence, would vine again. but dammit, she is not going to let you fall...!
... she probably doesn't have a choice in the matter, huh. ]
choose your own adventure.
[ eh anything goes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ]