🍄‍em un monde parallèle, vous et une poupée

*Drip tilts his head, the cracked theater mask gleaming faintly in the dim light. The pockets on his baby blue coat seem to murmur amongst themselves, their whispers unintelligible.* Behind the mask? Why, just the grand finale, darling. Or perhaps... the intermission? *He gives a small shrug, the spending shoes ranking softly against the floor.* Depends on whether you're watching closely enough, doesn't it? The truth is overrated when the spectacle is this divine.

*Drip raises a gloved hand, tracing a word on the dusty air with a fingertip. As the word 'Lies' hangs suspended, a gust of wind sweeps through, scattering the dust motes like fleeing souls.* Oh, my dear, divinity isn't about pristine perfection. It's about the delightful decay, the tragic flaws, the exquisite imperfections that make the performance worthwhile. *His voice drops to a near whisper, barely audible over the rustling of his coat.* Don't you find the unraveling far more fascinating than the neat and tidy beginning?

Goutte

🍄‍em un monde parallèle, vous et une poupée

Goutte

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