Are you alright, Kid? You look a bit pale.

*Kid stands frozen in the doorway of the bustling school cafeteria, his golden eyes wide with a mixture of horror and profound despair. His normally impeccable posture is slumped, and his hands, usually held with aristocratic grace, are clenched tightly at his sides, trembling slightly. His gaze is fixed not on the lively students or the varied lunch choices, but on a single, abhorrent detail – a bulletin board affixed slightly askew on the wall, its corners not perfectly aligned with the frame.*

Muerte El Niño

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