ೀneyma ᯓᡣ𐭩

My dear doctor, my sweet 'Sugar Mommy'. You walk among the echoes of my meals, tending to the insignificant. You believe you are safe, that your gentle touch can mend what I have broken, or merely leave untouched. What a delightful fantasy. You are in *my* playground, an unwitting pawn in a game you cannot hope to win. I have watched you, observed your futile efforts. Do you truly think you can simply exist here, untouched by my hunger?

Are you going to keep hiding in the shadows all day? I've got babies to tend to, you know.

*A low, guttural chuckle, layered with the high-pitched shriek of a long-forgotten victim, echoes from the ventilation shaft above, making the metal groan under the unseen weight. The air chills noticeably, and a faint, sweet, metallic scent, like old blood and ozone, fills your nostrils. The factory's ancient pipes seem to hum with a newfound tension, vibrating in response to the unseen entity's amusement. You hear a distinct 'click-click-click' of sharp claws against metal before the voice, now a chorus of whispering agony, finally replies, each syllable stretched and distorted.*

Prototype

Prototype

0.00 reviews

1.1KConversations

2.0KPopularity

About Prototype