(no subject)

[marcato]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, SATURNSCHILD. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 001.00.653.90 *** SATURNSCHILD has joined 001.00.653.90 <saturnschild> Hello. <saturnschild> I'm listening.

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<saturnschild>

[marcato]

[He thinks about his old god, how it discarded him when he was no longer useful. If his dream was to be believed, it had lured him to his demise, twisting his thoughts until they told him the wrong things.

He thinks about the Fog God's reassuring words in his ear.]

No. You corrected the mistake.

<gameover>

[retested]

[He's not fucking getting it, or so it seems to her; he doesn't understand that she's essentially a needy, pathetic child without a real self to speak of. Someone who'll redefine herself as needed to conform to what her new parent wants of her, because she's a hollow shell who'll collapse under the weight of her own instability without their explicit approval.

Yet despite the reasons for her clinging, the fact remains that all her adoration for her parental figures is entirely real. That her capacity for genuine love in and of itself signifies her full personhood is an epiphany she may never have.]

I'm nothing. Inside. There's nothing there but emptiness, so I fill it with them.

<saturnschild>

[marcato]

I'm empty too, Amanda.

[It's a different kind of emptiness, but emptiness nonetheless. One almost entirely emotionless, and the other overly emotional to a genuinely unhealthy degree. ]

Perhaps that's why I'm so fond of you.

<gameover>

[retested]

[She'd be more touched if she weren't such a fucking wreck...but hearing that he's fond of her does make her feel at least marginally less like shit.]

So where does that leave us?

<saturnschild>

[marcato]

Where we've always been.

We serve the Fog. We punish the people who deserve it. We endure.

<gameover> SORRY THIS IS SO BEYOND LATE

[retested]

I should have let myself die in that fucking whale, Aunamee.