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Philip hummed to himself as he picked out the brightest envelope he could find and placed his newly finished letter inside. His claws still smelling vaguely of the sweet honey scented soap that Alma had readily available in the kitchen. He had barely just finished washing them when he had rushed back upstairs to write it. His mind brimming with thoughts of things he wanted so tell Clover. While he really deep down hoped to tell her in person if he was able, he was sure that he would forget a few of them on the journey to the Cranny if he did not write them immediately. So the letter served as a good back up if he was unable to see her face-to-face.

It hadn’t taken him long to finish the tasks Alma set him, nothing a little strategic optimisation couldn’t handle. And while he had practically chugged his portion of that day’s soup, he had given it enough time to settle for his trek as he sat and calmly penned the letter. Now all that was left to do was to deliver it. Sealing the bright yellow envelope and passing it to Blip to hold, he leapt back down the stairs and sprinted out of the Nook.

Before he knew it, he had reached his destination - the Cranny. Every time he visited it, it seemed to have crumbled more. Be it from each wall deteriorating or shingles slowly falling from their places one by one. If he ever got that damn growth spurt, he swore that would be the first thing he would try to fix. There was no way he was letting wyngrew live in such horrendous conditions. Let alone his friends! Now where was Clo’s room again?

Briskly trotting through the halls, Philip paid attention to every door he came across, reading each of the door numbers and the personalised plates underneath until... bingo. Room 1-16A. The door was seemly shut, though it would be rude not to knock to at least try to see if she was in... Yet as his claws knocked against the door, it slowly swung open. Must not have been closed properly... It was dark - no candles lit, no window to shed light into the room. He blinked for a moment, trying to adjust his eyes... And just like that... he saw her. Tucked into her bed, eyes shut, dark inky blackness slicking her cheek fur.

Drip, drip, drip.

Black stained the bed where she lay, falling onto the floor, seeping into the wooden planks that made it up. The scent of musky illness lay heavy upon the air as it had nowhere to circulate. Nowhere to flee.

It couldn’t... She wasn’t...

Don’t get attached. You promised yourself. Don’t get attached they all die in the end.

No, no. But she was fine. She was fine. Just a cough. Just...

Dropping like flies. Body after body. Wyngling after wyngling. They couldn’t keep up. The Nook under lockdown, they couldn’t get them all out to the tents in time. Whole rooms cornered off. Not a single spot free of the black tears that stained the halls. No time to clean, no time to care.

Death... death... drip... drip...

The wheezing... The screams... just sing over the screams. It’ll all be fine... just sing. Just sing. Just smile and sing little lark. Sing from your cage or it shall be you who is next to fall.

Drip... Drip... Drip.

“Chase?”

~~~~~~~~

Clover (Mentioned) belongs to

Max Wyns

Wyn Tracker - docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d…

Description

Prev | Next

Philip hummed to himself as he picked out the brightest envelope he could find and placed his newly finished letter inside. His claws still smelling vaguely of the sweet honey scented soap that Alma had readily available in the kitchen. He had barely just finished washing them when he had rushed back upstairs to write it. His mind brimming with thoughts of things he wanted so tell Clover. While he really deep down hoped to tell her in person if he was able, he was sure that he would forget a few of them on the journey to the Cranny if he did not write them immediately. So the letter served as a good back up if he was unable to see her face-to-face.

It hadn’t taken him long to finish the tasks Alma set him, nothing a little strategic optimisation couldn’t handle. And while he had practically chugged his portion of that day’s soup, he had given it enough time to settle for his trek as he sat and calmly penned the letter. Now all that was left to do was to deliver it. Sealing the bright yellow envelope and passing it to Blip to hold, he leapt back down the stairs and sprinted out of the Nook.

Before he knew it, he had reached his destination - the Cranny. Every time he visited it, it seemed to have crumbled more. Be it from each wall deteriorating or shingles slowly falling from their places one by one. If he ever got that damn growth spurt, he swore that would be the first thing he would try to fix. There was no way he was letting wyngrew live in such horrendous conditions. Let alone his friends! Now where was Clo’s room again?

Briskly trotting through the halls, Philip paid attention to every door he came across, reading each of the door numbers and the personalised plates underneath until... bingo. Room 1-16A. The door was seemly shut, though it would be rude not to knock to at least try to see if she was in... Yet as his claws knocked against the door, it slowly swung open. Must not have been closed properly... It was dark - no candles lit, no window to shed light into the room. He blinked for a moment, trying to adjust his eyes... And just like that... he saw her. Tucked into her bed, eyes shut, dark inky blackness slicking her cheek fur.

Drip, drip, drip.

Black stained the bed where she lay, falling onto the floor, seeping into the wooden planks that made it up. The scent of musky illness lay heavy upon the air as it had nowhere to circulate. Nowhere to flee.

It couldn’t... She wasn’t...

Don’t get attached. You promised yourself. Don’t get attached they all die in the end.

No, no. But she was fine. She was fine. Just a cough. Just...

Dropping like flies. Body after body. Wyngling after wyngling. They couldn’t keep up. The Nook under lockdown, they couldn’t get them all out to the tents in time. Whole rooms cornered off. Not a single spot free of the black tears that stained the halls. No time to clean, no time to care.

Death... death... drip... drip...

The wheezing... The screams... just sing over the screams. It’ll all be fine... just sing. Just sing. Just smile and sing little lark. Sing from your cage or it shall be you who is next to fall.

Drip... Drip... Drip.

“Chase?”

~~~~~~~~

Clover (Mentioned) belongs to

Max Wyns

Wyn Tracker - docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d…