#Needle Felting Spring Gnomes Kit

[snowflakeforestfelting]

NEEDLE FELTING Spring Gnomes Kit Test and Review PenFelt Studios

[live-in-grey]

Regression. Regret. Relapse.

A heavy, bodied thud carried through the open air as the pack was set to the grassy flats. The one carrying it had struggled to perform the act, yet it was mercifully a singular entity without siblings. That overstuffed pack, left now solo within the center of this dirt plot, filled with the minimalist possessions of her world. For all it’s heft, the majority of the contents counted among her tools for cooking and packaging her product. The things that turned the gears of her world. Now, the only things.

Padding for those fragile things were her clothing, some base sleeping equipment, all the items that would well and return her to a world of faults. For she had made the error she swore not to make. To trust, to initiate a vulnerability in the hope and belief she could be rectified.

And in a sense, she had even fooled herself. Belief that in some way she’d be granted happiness that had been violently denied her on her spiral ever down. And back once more to that spiral she now found herself.

Lips parted to accept the mouthpiece, a heavy pull through the filter as her hands cupped to the Haze. The drug flared with the heated lighter fanning beneath, flooding her mouth and lungs with the bittersweet taste of her lost vices.

Addiction had left her for such things in recent time. Left her in favor of colorful pursuits. The things in her world once bleak, replaced with matters of her home life. The calm, the peaceful, the tranquil, the beautiful. But that beauty once brought upon as she hurled her kit of needles over the edge of the cliff now not only returned but was openly invited.

Flooded in, this releasing nectar of smoke to immediately begin as it had before to numb. To saturate the thoughts permanent in her mind, surround them, and begin to suffocate them. Numb twitched at her fingers. Tunneling vision licked the edges of her sight. She turned to lean to her pack, another hit claimed of the chemical joy.

But now it too was spoiled. When before the drugs were simply a means. Something to do. Something to engage. Now, they had another, new pain to seek to tackle. Another failure to bridge. It was too much for one dose. A second did little, combined now with a bottle stolen from the shelf of what was no longer home.

A cabin in Westfall. A cliffside once used as a graveyard for her old habits. The orchard of apples and the sweet spring air. Once all symbols to her that she had arrived at true happiness, granted her now a ripping agony that made her stomach desire to spill it’s nonexistent contents.

The Gnome tilted the bottle up, downing a few streams of tasteless burn into her throat. Expression neutral as her dosed mind refused to permit her access to her memories now too revolting to bear.

Her hands plucked a kerchief from her belt, riddled with stained tears spent sobbing in hours past. Lissmac corkscrewed the tip into the bottle of booze, giving the bottle a tilt inverted before righting it once more. Palms met a moment’s time before the lighter sparked the fabric. Soaked in booze, it rapidly lit and browned its edges.

Flames soared through the air, an arc that met it’s genesis as her arm whipped forward. A heavy crash resonated as that bottle cast through a singular glass window, spilling contents within and filling the interior of the single room cabin with flame. Lissmac had hoped, in some capacity, she’d feel satisfaction. Feel anger. Perhaps scream, or even cry. But no, not here. Not now.

She only felt numb.

Her hand turned down, gripping to her pocket and fishing two fingers in. Plucking from those depths, drawn up now to her gaze, two tickets for a flight path to Loch Modan. Accompanying them, corners bent and face faded, a Celestial Dreamer card, the only card spared from the deck that now turned to ash within the inferno before her.

She returned the Dreamer to her pocket before gripping the two tickets and tearing them down their center. Released, the wind took them, felling them off the side of the cliff and down toward the distant sea.

Her hands gripped to the pack now, body aching less as she swung it over her shoulder and secured it around her arms. It would be a day before she reached a porter, but she cared little. She had enough supply to last her the journey. Enough to keep her numb.

Behind her, remnants of a past life reduced now into an ashen heap of charred wood and broken metals. Figments of imagined happiness. Failure to see the lies. A simple, wasted dream. But no more.

You’re alone, Lissmac.