I was born sickbut I love it
The jokester is surprised by her calamity (the way her face remains drawn firm, the way her sky eyes are unyielding, the way her tongue moves slowly across her lips), but he doesn’t show it. He stares down at the faux fawn, focusing his attention on the tricky fingers crawling in her mind. It has been a long time since he last let his tricks out of their box and they are a bit rough around the edges.
“I suppose so.” Her tone is flat and unsurprising (he senses she is used to death and the showing of ribs, unlike what he thought of her originally) and he twists his right ear to hear her better. The fawn begins to move before her eyes (broken limbs moving across crackling blades of grass, distant gaze suddenly focusing on her sky blue one, ribs shaking as they inhale a rancid breath), decaying body rising into a zombie-like stand. It whispers out in a gravelly, throaty child-like voice, “Have you seen my Mommy?” before crumpling and fading away until it disappears.
Angular face stretches into another creepily satisfied grin. “Well, I hope she found her mom because she’s got some booboos that need kissing.” He finally chuckles, slinging a skinny shoulder against the mare beside him. “The name’s Lokii, babe. What’s yours?”
LOKII
