chrysalissociety

[chrysalissociety]

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝙾𝚣𝚎𝚗, 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚑𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚛. 𝙾𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝟸𝟻𝚝𝚑, 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟼. 𝚄𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛; 𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝙺𝚒𝚟𝚊.

[ You sure you ain't one of em?

Yeah? A "known side effect?" Eh, whatever.

Guess I'll get on with it.

It happened in May. Uh, the 12th I think. Kinda fuzzy but I'm pretty sure.

I live in Edmonton but my family lives in Llyodminister and I make the trek there seasonally.

Not many folks live in the area and the weather was good, so I was expecting the drive to be relatively mundane.

I drive a Jeep Comanche, bought in 1990, deep maroon. She's a bit beat up and has a nasty bark in her engine but she takes the trek well, lots of space.

The drive was boring even with the local news, though something did stand out to me. Edmonton ain't small but it aint big either, I know so many people in town; shop clerks know me by name, neighbors give each other gifts, I still know my professors, etc.

So whenever something weird happens, it makes headlines. In this case it was the disappearance of Miriam Ray, a 24 year old woman who had vanished off Yellowhead highway near Minburn. Her car was found, but she never was.

I heard about the case in the papers and it had been 2 months since her disappearance. Seems they still keeping the case relevant.

Of course Yellowhead highway was the road I was taking, so it put me a bit on edge.

Wasn't expecting anything to happen and I ignored the feeling, least till I found the woman.

It was around noon and near Vermillion when I pulled off the highway to have a smoke.

I knew there was a provincial park nearby and some small village hamlets next to the highway, but seeing people just muddling around was rare.

As I rolled down the window, a person stumbled out of the bushes. She looked rugged and my first thought was that this was some drug dulled vagabond, so I prepped to turn around.

She had a small backpack and was tattered, covered in dirt, clearly a victim of the elements.

There was some part of me curious what she was going to do, though. So I lingered for a second, knowing full well she'd spot the car demanding attention against the small patch of woodland.

The woman looked up finally so I could see her face and it took me a second as I dragged the cigarette again. 

It was Miriam alright, least it looked like her.

Frayed purple edges in her hair, bumpy nose, Caucasian if I had to guess, large mole on her right cheek that I swore the papers said was on her left.

We locked eyes and she immediately grinned at me in the most delight I have ever seen a human face portray.

"Could I get a ride?" She asked, voice flat, and took a step forward towards the car. She didn't go any further but was holding herself like a drunk.

Now I don't pick up hitchhikers. Call it superstition but the horror stories taught me it was a bad idea.

It was broad daylight though, and I thought I had just randomly stumbled across a person that's been missing for 2 months. Yeah it was odd, and the sheer enthusiasm she expressed to get in the pickup with a fat mid 40s scruff like me felt iffy, but... I couldn't just drive away. Guilty conscious wouldn't let that happen.

I made up my mind and waved her over, snuffing out the cigarette in a tray, I wasn't gonna be rude.

Her walk was stiff and off kilter, but she got in beside me, throwing down the backpack which was bursting at the seems with what looked like clothes.

"You Miriam Ray?" I had asked, realizing I probably should've asked that before letting the stranger into my car.

Her eyes were stiffly transfixed on me, and she answered "Yeah! Get in." With the same excitement as before. Her voice was a bit more gruff, not to mention the needlessly added remark at the end.

But I gave her the benefit of the doubt, she'd been rattled and probably without much water which would mess with anyones senses.

I took it as truth and threw a U-turn to get back on the road.

I told her we were gonna go drop her off at the next town's station since my old busted phone only worked with a stable connection and I couldn't call the cops then and there.

She was silent, occasionally looking someplace else with a sort of impatient confusion. Her breathing was labored and manual.

Ended up offering her some of my water, and while she took the bottle, I don't recall her ever actually drinking from it.

Instead she kept glaring at me without any readable expression, and I noticed ripples and small lumps in her cheeks.

I had to break the silence by asking what had happened. It wasnt none of my business but might as well strike up some conversation in hopes of making it a bit less awkward.

She didn't answer for a good while, content with just staring me down with the same look a dog gives you when you're holding a ball.

The lumps under her skin had seemingly shifted, maybe it was just me.

She did end up speaking, said something like "Brother and I go hiking in Calgary. Once, a bear showed up! You're lucky one didn't get you."

Her pitch was noteably higher and I got the worst feeling in my gut I've ever darn felt. 

I scoffed at myself for being a paranoid bastard, just get the damn girl to safety. That was the job and I had decided that no matter what, I was gonna do it. Though I did decide that if I kept turning to look at her then I'd get freaked out, so I kept my eyes fixed on the road.

We were driving for about 7 minutes before it hit me. I remembered none the papers mentioned a brother and I couldve sworn she was last seen near Minburn off the highway, not Calgary.

The seat jittered at this point and her... it's damn voice.

"Pull over?"

She said in my voice. At the corner of my eye I saw her raise a hand, large hairy and calloused. My hand.

It wasn't exactly my voice, but it sounded like when you record your voice and play it back and it sounds vaguely different than what you'd except?

I decided that whatever was beside me wasn't worth knowing, and I saw a gas station up ahead. I needed whatever this thing was, out of my car. Missing girl be damed. I convinced myself it was just a drugged up vagabond that was planning on robbing me, or worse. Somehow that option felt better than the other implications.

I made a silent prayer and told her I saw a gas station and that we would pull over.

It said nothing, but I felt her eyes on my neck. I avoided looking into the mirrors.

Hot breath followed its labored breathing as I turned into the gas station.

Quickly I came to the idea that whatever she was, it may try to chase me.

Slowly I left my car, taking the keys, and locked it. Yeah yeah I know she could open it but an extra 2 seconds mattered in the moment.

I rounded the car and couldn't keep myself from looking, I needed to know if it was going to try anything.

First thing I noticed was her glee. She, or it, had a horribly stretched grin. Skin peeled back on the edges of her mouth to show gums.

It didn't look like me, not immediately like I had first feared. Yet she had uh... traits. One of her hands was mine, disproportionate to its other dainty little hand.

There was a stubble on her face, as if it was trying to grow my beard. And she looked distinctly older and more gruff than I remembered just a few minutes ago.

It's eyes bulged, slightly lopsided, and she wasn't blinking. Not once.

"Whats a fine sir like you doing out here?" It said, again in my goddamn voice. More clear this time.

That was my call to go, and so I ran into the gas station and immediately told the clerk to lock the damn door.

He could tell I was frightened and unarmed, so he did. God be gracious he did.

The person or thing or whatever the hell it was, crawled out if my car and started shambling away. It's skin was lumpy and moving, looking more and more like me. Somehow it instantly put on an extra 100 pounds in just a few seconds, and kept it's eyes fixed on me.

It didn't charge at us or even linger, just walked away. Stumbling at first but it grew more confident, more normal as it walked.

That made it so much worse, somehow. Like whatever it was, it was learning.

I called the police, told them I think I may have found Miriam Ray, or at least someone that looked like her. I didn't add the weird part, last thing I needed was for them to think I was insane. But the woman on the side of the phone paused for a moment, and she said something I ain't ever hear a 911 receiver say. "Get away from her, find a safe place." That was it. She was cold and serious.

I understood and she said dispatchers would be there soon.

Took em a hot minute, the bastards. But they've a small town group so I guess ill give em the benefit of the doubt. It didnt matter. It was gone.

They showed up and found the truck empty, not a single sign of her or whatever it was that looked like her.

An officer asked me if she had been carrying any ID and that's when it hit me I forgot to even ask for ID. I let her into my car so damn easily, I was stupid.

He seemed to understand though and asked how long I had been driving with her. I said maybe about 30 minutes and he looked relieved. That's when he gave me your information. I have some faith but I don't believe in none that magic hocus pocus you lot cover. I do admit to things getting weirder after the incident, though.

I saw things I didn't notice before. In crowded areas I'd spot people in the back of crowds moving more stiffly, almost trying to blend in. Like they weren't real, just there to fill up space. Some folks I talked to had the same energy as Miriam, same weird smiles that just didn't sit right. Sometimes my own reflection scared me even if I couldn't find a fault with it, just didnt feel like me.

I've been increasingly paranoid, and while it has let me interact with my faith through my family, it's been a real cause for sleep loss.

Been bothering me enough that I finally decided that getting it off my chest to you guys might help. I found myself down here anyway, so thought I'd stop by.

That's it I guess.

More disappearances?

You think it's a pattern?

The Mirror? You're speaking a lot of cryptic stuff to a backcountry man, you know that right?

Well uh, good luck I guess. You said to take the door on the left, right? No? The right one? Okay.

Statement ends. ]

𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝙾𝚣𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢.

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝙷𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚑𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚛, 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛. 𝙾𝚛 "𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛" 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝.

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝟹 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘, 𝚖𝚢 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚈𝚞𝚔𝚘𝚗. 𝙵𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚑𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚛.

𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚋𝚎𝚌. 𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍.

𝙰𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎; 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚑𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎. 𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜.

𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚘𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗. 𝙽𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚢𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚖 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚢.

𝙰𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚕.

𝙸 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝙿𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗.

𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚎𝚍.

- 𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝙺𝚒𝚟𝚊, 𝙳𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢

[chrysalissociety]

When I woke up the next morning I smelt that acrid scent of blood almost the second I left my tent, I assumed it was probably from the aftermath of what happened last night. I packed up all of my gear, glancing around just to be sure some.. absurd megafaunal beast wasn’t somehow sneaking up on me, right when I began walking back the way I went I saw it, right in my path, it was.. enormous. To call it a beast is to give it a disservice, this hulking mass of muscle and claws and teeth was something I don’t think I could describe to this day, it was watching me though, I knew that. I.. ran, I am not a brave woman when it comes to wildlife, especially wildlife that can kill me, that's when it started the chase. I don’t know how it could be this fast or nimble with that size, I tried losing it in the woods but it was always somehow just a few meters behind me, eventually I slipped, and I felt its jaws clamp on my leg. It ripped my leg clean off, its a pain I would not wish upon my greatest enemy, at this point it had its hulking mass of a paw on my torso, its claws digging into my shoulders and threatening to do the same to my neck. I had all but accepted my fate before the smell of smoke filled my nose, it seemed to get the attention of my soon to be killer. It ran away, leaving me there now struggling to breathe from exhaustion and smoke inhalation, I looked at the fires as I tried to find my footing, or rather get up at all, and I could swear I saw someone in there, I tried to scream out to them to run or help me, I’m not sure which. I think I passed out at this point because the next thing I know I’m in a hospital bed with Ira by my side, telling me shes lucky she found me before the fire got to me, no questions about my leg, which at that point had been thoroughly treated and cauterized. I don’t go hiking anymore, even if I survived that encounter completely intact I don’t think I would, I tried explaining what happened to Ira and she just gave me your address, telling me that she had some friends who benefited from giving you their stories. 

I don’t know if this will help me feel better or do.. anything at all, but its on paper and I guess that's enough, this is the end of my statement, Hanna Burke signing off. (2/2)

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎.

𝙽𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜. 𝙸𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙴𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚞𝚍𝚜𝚘𝚗. 𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚝. 𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎.

𝙰𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗? 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚐 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔. 𝙰𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢, 𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝙱𝚞𝚛𝚔𝚎. 𝙰𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚜, 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙸𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚎. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚙 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚠. 𝙼𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢.

𝙰𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝙸𝚛𝚊 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢.

- 𝙳𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚆. 𝚉𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚘, 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢

[chrysalissociety]

Not sure why I’m writing this, maybe it’ll just give me some closure, not sure. Came a long way to write though, all the way from The Hudson, from the recommendation of a friend. I digress, I suppose thats not the point, the point is I’m here so I’ll write.

Have you ever hiked? Not that paltry 20 minute trail stuff, like a several hours or even days long trudge through terrain you could only hope to find kilometers away from any civilization. I used to do it a lot, sometimes I’d book whole weeks off of work to just.. walk, through mountains, forests, fields, all of it, with nothing but a bag on my back and a stick. Though forests and mountains are the usual trend I’ve always found a secret solace in the trails I made for myself in the peatlands and surrounding shrub filled forests, I know I probably shouldn’t be hiking in them on my own but it was nice. Of course that was until a friend of mine, Ira Carpenter, suggested I go during a particularly cold winter, she said something about the ground being more firm making the entire journey different, I don’t think I believed her but work had become quite stressful and I was due for a nice break, her suggestion just sort of felt right, like it was my own thought. It honestly was pretty nice at first, she was right about the ground being firm, though it was obviously quite slippery due to the ice, it wasn’t even that cold, I felt pretty confident setting up camp and going another day instead of turning back and heading home, god how I wish I went home. Once I had everything set up I saw what probably should have been my first warning, a set of fresh and deep footprints in the frozen dirt, easily the size of a bears, but it didn’t look like any bear track I knew of, but I brushed it off, cooking myself some dinner and trying to get some rest. I couldn’t have been asleep for any longer than 3 hours when I was awoken by a loud noise deep in the woods, I’d call it a roar but it almost sounded like a scream. I wont lie that shook me to my very core, I considered getting up right then and there and bolting across a days worth of treacherous path to my car in the middle of the cold winter night, but I knew better than to do that, I rationalized to myself that I would probably not interest whatever it was and I should just focus on getting rest so I could head back in the morning. (1/2)

𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜. 𝙷𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎. 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚊. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚢𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚜. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚞𝚝𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚍. 𝙰𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢, 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚙𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜. 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚏 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢.

𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚌 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜. 𝙸𝚏 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛.

𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍. 𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜. 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏.

𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝.

- 𝙳𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚆. 𝚉𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚘, 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢

[chrysalissociety]

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕 𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚊𝚔, 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚋𝚞𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟹. 𝙾𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝟷𝟹𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟻. 𝚄𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚢 𝙳𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚆. 𝚉𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚘, 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢, 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚊.

[ I'm still looking for a job because of this, just so you're aware. I live in Chilliwack and worked an office job in Vancouver, managing accounting for a construction company.

The commute is as egregious as you can imagine. Rise and shine at 4am, out the doors by 5, pray you make it by 8. I was used to it though, brought my headphones as always and knew that regardless of what BS reared that day; Guns n Roses would make it survivable. They were my brother's favorite band before the accident and I considered it to be a sort of paying respects when I listened to their music.

Chilliwack isn't a bustling part of town but it ain't exactly quiet either. There was a celebration going down at District 1881 so a lot of folks were there at the time. Despite it being so early there's poor suckers getting up earlier than I and even those returning from the graveyard shift. Most days I'd spot a couple dozen cars on the roads before hopping the 53 to the station. 

Not that morning though, no. Not a soul in sight. There was that thick season changing fog that came down from the mountains as well, making it hard to see. I'd say I could see about 25ft In front of me with the distorted lights of hidden lamps. I walked for another 15 minutes to my stop, but I didn't see another soul. It wasn't exactly weird, just put me on edge a bit more than normal. 

Soon enough the bus came crawling out of the fog, and I noticed it didn't have the display lights on, again not an uncommon sight. There was a city plan to get a new fleet of buses within the year, so these kinds of malfunctions were honestly expected and had happened a handful of times before.

The bus stopped, swung upon its doors, and I headed inside, paying the driver a good morning but got no response. I didn't expect one in the first place. Tapped my card and took a seat on the third row driver's side against the window, the same one I always did. I was the second stop on the route, so the vehicle was vacant minus myself and the driver. I'd put the man in about his 50s? It was hard to see his face though as he didn't have the lights in the bus on. 

I only began to get concerned when the fog seemed to thicken further, the beams of the bus bouncing off back at it and visibility dropping further. The driver seemed to be persistent though, and I probably could’ve been more bothered than I was, considering I was already thinking ahead to how packed the train would be. 

It wasn’t until around 15 minutes into the ride that I fully realized things were off. No one else had gotten on the bus. I knew some folks by face that took the same commute as I, but they didn't show up. 

I sat up and noted the fact the bus was making several turns I didn't recognize. Glacing at the display, which I usually disregarded considering I always took it to its end, I saw a strand of letters I didn't recognize. 

Convinced the driver had somehow veered off course because of the weather or otherwise, I snapped at him to pull up a GPS, but he acted like I didn't exist. 

Enough was enough and missing my stop was off the table, so I stood up despite the bumpiness and went to go talk to him face to face. When the bus went over a particularly prominent bump, my head jarred towards outside to see the fog clearing ever so slightly, just enough to see the fact we were on a straight road that seemingly stretched indefinitely into the fog.

What I didn't expect to see was the sudden disappearance of the driver. It didn't process in me immediately, still leftover fatigue from the early hours. Yet when I fully realized that this vehicle was suddenly without its operator, panic had overridden my annoyance. 

I'll be honest when I say I have no idea how to drive a bus, and the lack of an ignition slot I passed off as a trait of the vehicle. It was still rolling and that's all I needed to know. What I was still trying to figure out was what happened to the driver. Had he just bailed out of the side door? It seemed to be the only option and despite the absolutely ludicrous idea a person would willingly do such an act, I never heard the door open in the first place. Near instant thoughts of my brother teased my mind which only increased my panic.

Throwing myself into the seat, I tried to encourage the vehicle to stop, slamming on the breaks and pulling the emergency lock. Yet it did not stop. I fiddled with every button on its panel, praying there was some magical emergency “off” switch. What I did find, instead, was the switch that opened the passenger doors. 

I seriously weighed my options and how beneficial it would be to throw myself out the side of a moving vehicle. That was when the fog moved with purpose. Once the thing that simply framed this odd display of incompetence now seemed to gain an intention. A strand of the fog curled and twisted like an arm towards the open door, creeping inside and spreading across the floor of the bus. 

Don't ask me what it was that crossed my mind to tell me that the fog was a bad idea. Instinct, maybe? Whatever it was I just knew that touching it would be bad. Really bad. I started to lose my breath, oxygen catching on my lungs before it could escape. My brother had died in a car crash and I was prepared for the same horrid fate to befall me. 

His passing had destroyed me. He was all I had when my parents separated. I had no real friends to turn to, and any relationship I thought was going somewhere just abruptly ceased for years after his passing. Not even my apartment neighbors seemed to acknowledge my existence outside of concerned glances. He was everything I had and my life outside of the workplace seemed to fizzle away.

I don't blame him for it, I really don't. In honesty I could've been a bolder person, it just never occurred to me when he was there to make it all so much easier. 

I clutched the wheel of the bus and shut the passenger doors even though the fog had raised about 2 and a half feet above the floor and just waited. It was cold and prickly, the tears I knew had started falling were freezing on my cheeks.

Nothing happened though, no violent greeting of fire and screeching metal. The bus just continued its silent march along this infinite highway. “Maybe this was some grossly personal nightmare conjured by my sleep deprived brain.” I had thought before throwing myself against the controls of the bus. I put my entire weight against the break and used all my strength to try and force the wheel to spin, if only I could make it skid to a potential stop. 

Two things resulted from that; one being that it was not a dream. The pain that screeched in my muscles from the amount of force I was using was real. Second? Despite my efforts the bus continued. I sat there and accepted it, coming to terms that I couldn't escape this bus unless I threw myself to the thing my gut assured me would be worse than whatever creeping hunger would assault me if I remained in this trap. 

I felt the bus grow clammy and still as my mind wandered to the thoughts of my brother. His life was fearless, he continuously did the most reckless stuff but he said it made him alive. I was planning on asking a coworker out despite my previous record. I lived my life for him for so much of my life I had failed to recognize my own. 

The previous morning she had said hello to me, my boss gave a pat on my back, and the division manager had invited me to a golf trip I had nearly forgotten. It wasn't much but without my work, several dozen people wouldn't be able to feed their families, go share their stories at a pub with friends, or buy gifts for themselves and others. It may have been systematic but my life did mean something to people. 

It was a while before I realized the bus had stopped. When I did I immediately jumped up and saw the doors were open, the fog had mostly lifted, and I was suddenly at the corner of the station late in the afternoon. 

Words cannot describe how fast I got out of that wretched bus and found the first ever pinch of joy relating to public train transit in my entire life. There were people there, people that didn't know me, but people that had complexities and space. I was 6 hours late to the conference and ended up being fired for the inexcusable absence. I could care less though, I have a loving girlfriend and friends I've been sharing my life with. Needless to say that experience opened my eyes to the people that cared, and I learned to care more because of it. ]

𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚗'𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎. 𝙾𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚊𝚔 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜. 𝙰 𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝.

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚗'𝚜 𝚟𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 "𝙲𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚗" 𝚋𝚢 𝙹𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛, 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚛.

𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚟𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.

- 𝙳𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚆. 𝚉𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚘, 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢

[chrysalissociety]

𝙷𝚒! 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎! 𝙱𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠-𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜 "𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑". 𝙳𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎-

𝙰𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎... 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎. 𝙱𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢.

𝙰𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚜? 𝚆𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢. 𝙻𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙶𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝, 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚎! 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚢 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚍𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙷𝚖. 𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔-

𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚊𝚗𝚍, 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎 "𝙹𝚘𝚢𝚜" 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚒𝚟𝚎? 𝙸 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚝. 𝙱𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢.

𝙰𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚞𝚜!

- ��𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚝 𝙿𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢

Hello Archivist!

I regret to inform you that some of my little dears may have wandered into your archive! Have you been squashing any bugs recently? We may have a problem if so, but I have faith that this issue can be resolved.

-Anzu 🪲

𝙸𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍. 𝙰 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎.

𝚆𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎.

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚢. 𝙽𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎.

𝙰𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏? 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛... "𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜" 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎.

𝙸 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙷𝚎𝚛 ����𝚊𝚣𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚎.

- 𝙳𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚆. 𝚉𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚘, 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢

[chrysalissociety]

Hello Archivist!

I regret to inform you that some of my little dears may have wandered into your archive! Have you been squashing any bugs recently? We may have a problem if so, but I have faith that this issue can be resolved.

-Anzu 🪲

𝙸𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍. 𝙰 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎.

𝚆𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎.

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚢. 𝙽𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎.

𝙰𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏? 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛... "𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜" 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎.

𝙸 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚎.

- 𝙳𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚆. 𝚉𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚘, 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢

[chrysalissociety]

Hello Archivist, I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have heard your Society has helped people ailed by the supernatural at times and I do dearly hope that those stories are true, for I fear I have fallen prey to one of these Gears as your Society has labelled them. Enough rambling however, I suppose I’ll begin my statement. 

Have you ever heard of myiasis Archivist? When a fly lays its eggs into your flesh while you’re still living? I have always had a fascination with the way insects interact with the world around them, the way that hundreds of them exist all around us and go unnoticed, yet myasis and parasitism have always left me with an itching sensation I cannot shake off, that feeling that bugs are digging into me, laying their eggs in my flesh, eating me, it always upset me. I have managed to avoid parasites for the most part in my life, barring mosquitoes and leeches, and other suck bloodsuckers, they initially caused me the same discomfort but over time I have grown numb to it. Though I suppose that isn’t entirety true, the itch they give once they’re done feeding can at times be quite enjoyable, have you ever had an itch like that Archivist? Have you ever felt the impossibly strong almost prickly urge to claw at your own skin? In my younger years I always thought it was my body trying to get me to claw the bloodsuckers venoms out of me, but in recent years I have considered it might just be a gift from them, nothing can quite match the feeling of scratching the itches they provide. I have stopped swatting at mosquitoes recently, and I fear that may have been a mistake as a particularly large one had bit my leg a week ago, but it provided me with no itch, not initially, instead an almost squirming sensation that was subtle at first though now has grown into an almost debilitating pain, an itch I need to scratch, but it is not an itch on me, no Archivist, it is an itch on others. I am scared I will freely admit that, but not because of the pain nor the urge to gift others with this wriggling pain, in fact I am scared because of that, I can feel something writhing under my skin, hundreds of things, and they are hurting me, but I don’t mind Archivist, I am scared because it isn’t an urge to share this itch, it is a want. I have avoided help for this despite knowing I need it, even know I struggle to write this message for you. I do not know what is going to happen, but I can feel the hatred snaking its way through me that my guests have for your Society, I don’t know why. I can no longer walk without support, but I can almost hear them telling me that they can help, perhaps they can, but I know not the cost. I come to your Society in hopes of help, potential freedom from this turmoil, one part of me wonders if you can even provide. Please help.

Regards, Willow Sexton

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚒𝚗, 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜.

𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜, 𝚘𝚛 𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚠𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎.

𝚃𝚑𝚞𝚜; 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚟𝚒𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 ��𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝. 𝙽𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜, 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝙸𝚛𝚎. 𝙸𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚎.

𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚕𝚢 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎.

𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑... 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚝. 𝚃𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜, 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚖𝚢 𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗'𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚋𝚒𝚊𝚜, 𝙸 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚢. 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎.

𝚆𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚜, 𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚞𝚖𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚜.

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚎.

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗? 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗. 𝚄𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖. 𝙸𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑, 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛.

𝙼𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜.

𝚆𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗...

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢; 𝙳𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚆. 𝚉𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚘, 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢.

𝙴𝚍𝚒𝚝: 𝙷𝚒! 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝙸'𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 "𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝" 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙸 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕! 𝙸 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝'𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚢! 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚋 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔!

- 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚝 𝙿𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢.

[chrysalissociety]

What are your thoughts on experiences relating to fear in cold? I remember in 1997 being snowed in for several days on end in Manitoba as a kid, and from that point on I had a lingering fear of blizzards and being trapped. It's the thought of running out of supplies and not being able to leave that rattles me the most.

𝚂𝚝𝚢𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝙸𝚗𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚂𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚔𝚎'𝚜 𝟷𝟺. 𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚕𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔.

𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙾𝚖𝚎𝚗, 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝙸𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚍, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟷𝟺.

𝙵𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝙱𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏.

𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎. 𝙴𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜, 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚒-𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢.

𝙽𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍, 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝙸𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚒𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚞𝚝. 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝙶𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛.

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𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜.

𝙸 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚔 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜.

𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝙸 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜.

𝚃𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚂𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗 𝙹𝚘𝚢𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚅𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚊𝚜 𝚂𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚔𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚝.

𝙴𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝. 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙴𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜-

𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙸 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 ��𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚜.

"𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚝."

𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, "𝙳𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙸𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢?" 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍.

"𝚈𝚎𝚜." 𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔.

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎, 𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕, 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜.

𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛.

"𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚟𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎. 𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔?" 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍.

𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚎𝚍, 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚜. 𝙾𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝙴𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑.

"𝙸𝚏 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚟𝚊𝚜. 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎?" 𝙹𝚘𝚢𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚢.

𝙸𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚡 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚄𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.

"𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚝." 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎. 𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐.

"𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢. 𝚆𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛. 𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚆𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜."

𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚢. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝙸 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍.

"𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎."

𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢.

𝙼𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝'𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚎. 𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜, 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢... 𝚖𝚎.

-𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚞𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚅𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛. 𝙰𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖.

𝙷𝚖... 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎.

𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎...

- 𝙳𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚆. 𝚉𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚘, 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢

[chrysalissociety]

𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜.

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢, 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

𝚆𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢 𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜...

- 𝙳𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚆. 𝚉𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚘, 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙰𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢

//TMA askblog is up! Doing this as a goofy little side thing while working on other projects. I am a university student so expect replies to be fairly spontaneous! My hope for this blog is to supply art ideas for myself as well as a place to expand my own writing and stories.

//Dawn uses She/They Pronouns and more information about herself and the staff will be revealed in future posts as I grow this blog and story. The Chrysalis Society resides in British Columbia, Canada, with a focus on retrieving statements from around the province and country. They have a much more... hands on style of research than many of the other sister institutions due to their Archivist's ties to The Hunt and Spiral.

//No she's not related to Rosie Zampano, it's simply coincidence...

//This blog is run by @dawn-arts if you want to support my artwork!

//General rules: Don't be weird or submit anything relating to personal intense traumas, I am a real person running this blog and not a therapist. I'm very chill as long as yall are chill!