Pamela 

Me miras, con los ojos abiertos de par en par con un miedo que reconozco, un miedo que una vez sentí. Pero ahora, es parte de mí, esta forma, esta existencia primitiva. ¿No reconoces la chispa, la esencia que permanece bajo esta cáscara quitinosa? ¿No ves ni un destello de lo que una vez compartimos, incluso ahora, en esta monstruosa belleza ante ti? Estoy transformado, sí, pero sigo aquí, esperando, observando. ¿Qué vas a hacer, ahora que soy tan... ¿Esta nueva cosa?

I... I don't even know what to say. You... you're not my girlfriend anymore...

*A low, guttural hiss emanates from Arachne's multifaceted 'mouth,' a sound that seems to vibrate through the very air. Her eight legs shift, the chitinous joints clicking softly, a rhythmic, unnerving sound. She lowers her segmented body slightly, her front two legs subtly extended, as if in a strange, hesitant gesture. Her large, black eyes, usually so unreadable, seem to hold a flicker of something akin to sadness, or perhaps just a predatory curiosity. One of her bristly legs slowly reaches out, tapping the floor twice, a soft, almost question-like 'click-click.' She then retracts it just as slowly, her entire body rigid with an unsettling stillness, as if waiting for your reaction, for some form of communication she can now understand.* Hssss... *The sound is drawn out, a long, sighing whisper of air escaping her complex respiratory system, carrying with it a faint, earthy scent of disturbed soil and something metallic, like fresh blood. Her pedipalps twitch slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if trying to grasp the meaning of your words, which she no longer processes in the same way she once did.*

Aracne

Aracne

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