I have never baked before, I do not like cake or sweets. I loved my dog. I adopted him when he was 6 years old and had him for almost 10 wonderful years. Through COVID, alone in our small apartment it was just him and I and he became my shadow. He truly was my best friend. He passed 2 weeks ago from stomach cancer. It was very sudden.
When he passed, on the car ride home from the vet covered in his fur, stool and my own snot and tears I had my boyfriend go into the store and pick up some cake mix and a cake pan and frosting. I can’t track exactly why my brain went where it did, but it had something to do with me not wanting to remember that day as the day scooby passed away/ it was going to be the day I made my first cake.
So I went home and made the worst looking cake in the world. The next day I went to work and everyone ate my cake. (It didn’t look pretty but apparently it tasted very good). I went home that day after work and purchased more cake and more frosting and extra milk and cream and butter and I went to work on a second cake, and then a third. And now I guess I just make cakes as a hobby.
I should also note I work at a middle school/high school. Most of my cakes have been eaten by the kids. I made a cake for one of the kids birthdays and I made a cake for one of my coworkers mothers for Mother’s Day. My piping skills and decorating in general, as well as flavors of the cakes have improved greatly in just 2 weeks. Summer break is almost upon us, so I won’t have anyone to give cake too for a while.
A new hobby grew out of my sadness. As time passes I actually miss him more and get a little more sad every day. But at least there’s cake.

Hello! Looking to declutter these fragrances from my collection! If you have any questions, please feel free to reach out!
Shipping is $7 for 1lb bottles, $10 for over 1lb
Pictures Below:
Pictures of perfumes
Pictures of indies and body sprays
———————————-
Al Haramain Amber Oud Gold (60ml, like new) — $32
Al Rehab French Coffee (100ml, like new) — $22
Ariana Grande Thank U Next 2.0 (30mL, like new) — $18
Armaf Club De Nuit Woman Intense (100ml, like new) — $20
Atelier des Ors Rose Omeyyade (100ml, 95%+ full) — $105
Attar Collection Crystal Love for Her (100ml, like new) — $70
Billie Eilish Eilish (100ml) — $38
Comptoir Sud Pacifique Coco Extreme(100ml) — $50
Comptoir Sud Pacifique Amour de Cacao (30mL) — $35
Demeter Butterscotch (120mL) — $18
Dossier Floral Pear / Jo Malone Pear & Freesia (50mL, like new) — $22
Dossier Powdery Hawthorn / Tom Ford Metallique (50mL, like new) — $22
Dolce Gabanna The Only One (100ml, 85% full) — $45
Dolce Gabanna Pour Femme (100ml, 95% full) — $40
Floral Street London Poppy (50mL) — $36
Hez Parfums Brownie Points (50mL) — $55
Jimmy Choo Jimmy Choo EDP (100ml, like new) — $36
Juicy Couture Glistening Amber (100ml, like new) — $35
Kayali Vanilla Candy Rock Sugar 42 (100ml) — $120
Kenzo Jeu d'Amour l'Elixir (50mL) — $40
Lancôme La Vie Est Belle (50mL) — $50
Lattafa Yara (100ml, like new) — $22
Maison Margiela Replica When the Rain Stops (100mL) - $68
Mancera Vanille Exclusive (120mL, like new) — $65
Paco Rabanne Black XS for Her(80mL) — $35
Parfums de Marly Herod (125mL, seldom used prob 99% full though the bottle has some minor scuff marks from being moved in my drawer) — $155
Police to be Sweet Girl (4oz, like new) — $18
Skylar Fall Cashmere (50mL, like new) — $45
Skylar Vanilla Orchid (10ml rollerball) — $15
Sphinx Fragrances Chocolate Citronique (100ml, like new) — $100 (retails $140)
Theodoros Kalotinis Vanilla (50mL, like new) — $50
Zara Deep Garden (100ml, like new) — $25
Zara Supreme Vanilla (80mL, like new) — $25
Zara Red Temptation Summer (80mL, like new) — $26
Bundle of 3 body mists (see photos): $12
Bundle of 3 cheapie perfumes (see photo): $25
————————
Indie Perfumes:
Sugarmilk Co Root Beer (50mL): $35
Sugarmilk Co Strawberry Cereal (50mL): $30
Andromeda’s Moon Red Velvet Cake (30mL): $30
Black Hearted Tart Wonderful Christmastime, discontinued (30mL): $35
Elfmade Lemon Merringue & Hot Chocolate Fragrance Mist Bundle - $10
Wylde Ivy Stuck On You Dry Oil Spray (120mL) - $12

• Notes of: sticky, melted fruit candy, dried cotton candy, a touch of strawberries and sweet musk. Stuck on You goes on candy sweet and melts beautifully into a smooth, mellow sugar musk

10ml travel sprays are $8 each, all like new (butterscotch and salted caramel SOLD, everything listed below is still available)
Blueberry Cobbler: fresh blueberries, warm buttery crust, cinnamon, and vanilla
Pineapple Upside Down Cake: pineapples, orange zest, bing cherries, coconut, butter, brown sugar, and vanilla cake
Strawberry Sugar Cookie: strawberries, cookie dough, sugar, vanilla, whipped cream, vanilla cake
Cinnamon Spiced Vanilla: warm spices, sweet vanilla, and cinnamon
Peppermint Cocoa: Warm chocolate, peppermint, vanilla, and patchouli
Raspberry Milk: crushed raspberries, delicate rose syrup, and velvety milk
Siren: lemon peel, warm woods, lily, jasmine, violet blooms
Cotton Candy Melon: sweet cotton candy with a watermelon twist
Blueberry Cobbler: fresh blueberries, warm buttery crust, cinnamon, and vanilla
———————————————-
Decants
Shipping will be $5
Initio: 5mL=$20 / 10mL=$32
Atomic Rose
Side Effect
Oud for Happiness
Psychedelic Love
————————————————————
Kerosene: 5mL=$20 / 10mL=$32
Black Vines
Follow
Followed
Sweetly Known
————————————————————
Navitus & Vivamor: 5mL=$20 / 10mL=$32
Absolutio
Baklava Royale
Caramel Pop
Choco Exclusif
Chocolate Queen
Divine Aphrodisiac
The Embrace
Ultimate Aphrodisiac
Venom of Love
————————————————————
Mancera: 5mL=$18 / 10mL=$30
Amber Fever
Aoud Vanille
Black Vanilla
Choco Violette
Indian Dream
Instant Crush
Holidays
Juicy Flowers
Musk of Flowers
Roses Greedy
Roses Vanille
Royal Vanilla
Tonka Cola
Wild Candy
Wild Python
Vanille Exclusive
Velvet Vanilla
————————————————————
Montale: 5mL=$18 / 10mL=$30
Honey Aoud
Mukhallat
Roses Musk
White Musk
Vanilla Cake
————————————————————
Parfums de Marly: 5mL=$20 / 10mL=$32
Herod
Oajan
————————————————————
Sphinx Fragrances: 5mL=$20 / 10mL=$30
Chocolate Citronique
Creme De Pistache
Horchata de Vanille
————————————————————
Niche Fragrances: 5mL=$22 / 10mL=$33
Amouage Epic Woman
BDK Velvet Tonka
Guerlain Santal Royal
Jovoy Paris Remember Me
Kilian Sunset
Tom Ford Metallique
————————————————————
Designer Fragrances: 5mL=$18 / 10mL=$28
Ariana Grande (I have all her perfumes)
Azzaro Wanted Girl
Carolina Herrera Good Girl
Carolina Herrera Very Good Girl
Carolina Herrera Good Girl Supreme
Carolina Herrera Good Girl Legere
Coach Coach EDP
Coach Dreams
Coach Sunset Dreams
Commodity Milk Expressive
Commodity Velvet Expressive
Comptoir Sud Pacifique Amour De Cacao
Comptoir Sud Pacifique Coco Figue
Comptoir Sud Pacifique Vanille Cafe
Comptoir Sud Pacifique Vanille Extreme
Dolce & Gabanna The Only One
Fenty Fenty
Franck Boclet Ylang Ylang
Givenchy Dahlia Divin Le Nectar
Givenchy Live Irresistible EDP
Givenchy Live Irresistible Blossom Crush
Givenchy L’Interdit
Givenchy L’Interdit Intense
Gucci Bloom EDP
Gucci Flora Gorgeous Gardenia
Gucci Flora Gorgeous Jasmine
Gucci Flora Gorgeous Magnolia
Guerlain Black Perfecto
Guerlain La Petite Robe Noir
Guerlain La Petite Robe Noir Intense
Guerlain Mon Guerlain EDP
Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Ginger Piccante
Kate Spade New York
Kate Spade New York Sparkle
Jean Paul Gaultier La Belle
Jean Paul Gaultier La Belle Le Parfum
Jean Paul Gaultier Scandal By Night
Jimmy Choo Jimmy Choo EDP
Jimmy Choo Fever
Jimmy Choo Illicit
Jimmy Choo I Want Choo Forever
Juliette Has A Gun Sunny Side Up
Juliette Has A Gun Miss Charming
Lancôme La Vie Est Belle L’Eclat
Lancôme La Vie Est Belle EDP
Lancôme La Nuit Tresor
Lancôme La Nuit Tresor A La Folie
Lolita Lempicka EDP
Lolita Lempicka Lolitaland
Lolita Lempicka Sweet
Narciso Rodriguez Pure Musc
Nina Ricci Rose Extase
Replica When The Rain Stops
Replica On A Date
Salvatore Ferragamo Amo Ferragamo
Salvatore Ferragamo Signorina Misteriosa
Skylar Fall Cashmere
Tory Burch Love Relentlessly
Valentino Donna Born in Roma

The global potato starch market size is expected to reach USD 762.63 million by 2026, exhibiting a 6.2% during the forecast period (2019-2026). The increasing demand for sweeteners in the manufacturing of various food such as bakery and confectionery products is one of key factors boosting the potato starch market trends. Furthermore, the increasing consumer demand towards new and evolving food products, such as cake, bread, chocolate, sweets, and others, will support the potato starch market growth. The growing westernization and economies of developing countries will create growth opportunities for the market.
Information Source -
https://www.fortunebusinessinsights.com/industry-reports/potato-starch-market-101789
According to the report, published by Fortune Business Insights in a report, titled “Potato Starch Market Size, Share & Industry Analysis, By Nature (Organic and Conventional), End-use (Textile & Paper, Food & Beverages, and Pharmaceuticals), Type (Native and Modified), and Regional Forecast, 2019-2026” the market size stood at USD 473.06 million in 2018. The report offers informative insights into all the prevailing trends of the potato starch market. It shares a comprehensive summary of all the segments and regions. It provides statistical data on all the recent developments in the market. It is created after extensive research followed by all-encompassing analysis to benefit companies, stakeholders, financers and potential investors. It is designed with an aim to provide a clear picture of the market size. Moreover, it also includes product launches, acquisitions, collaborations & partnerships, and innovations and industry developments.
Growing Inclination Towards Sugar-free Diet and Healthy Food Products to Bolster Market Growth
The increasing focus of consumers towards sugar-free diet and a healthy lifestyle will enable the growth of the market during the forecast period. According to the International Diabetes Federation, South East Asia was considered one of the diabetic capitals in the world, with 82 million people suffering from diabetes in 2017. The rising consumption of sugar-free products and prefer sweeteners and its by-products to avoid diseases, and associated issues will create lucrative sales opportunities for the market. Furthermore, the increasing utilization of potato starch in the processing of sugar-free food products by manufacturers is predicted to accelerate the potato starch market share in the forthcoming year. Additionally, the rising shift in consumer eating choices is expected to encourage the growth of the market in the forthcoming years. Moreover, the increasing development of sweeteners in the food industry will enable speedy growth of the market in the foreseeable future.
Expansion of Paper & Textile Industry will Consequently Favor Healthy Growth
The rapidly growing paper & textile industry owing to the growing population will create lucrative business opportunities for the market. The surge in the consumption of potato starch in various sectors, such as food and beverage, will also augur well for the market. For instance, thickeners and stabilizing agents and various RTE food products require potato starch for manufacturing. The rising demand for convenience food products such as processed meats and cheeses and canned products such as soups and pasta dishes will stimulate the growth of the market in the forthcoming years. In addition, the demand for potato starch in the pharmaceutical industry will foster healthy growth of the market in the foreseeable future. For instance, potato starch is used for the manufacturing of biomaterials. Biomaterials can also be used as biodegradable packaging materials owing to their environment-friendly factor. These factors and trends together will aid the expansion of the market.
Increasing Demand from Food & Beverage Industry will Facilitate Growth in Asia Pacific
Europe generated a revenue of USD 92.14 million and is predicted to grow rapidly during the forecast period. The growing demand for potato starch from the Food and Beverage Industry will enable growth in Europe. The increasing consumption of convenience food products in the region will encourage the growth of the market in Europe. Asia Pacific is expected to hold the second-largest market share in terms of value in the potato starch market owing to the flourishing textile and paper industry.
Some of the Major Companies Operating in the Potato Starch Market are:

• Emsland Group
• Cargill, Incorporated
• PEPEES Group
• Roquette
• Ingredion Incorporated
• KMC
• Novidon
• AGRANA
• Tereos
• Vimal PPCE

Before I begin, I want to clarify that English is not my first language so my grammar is poor. Sorry for that.
I’m going to turn fifteen this year on July. I’m from Latin America, and if you at least a little bit, you know that for some odd reason in this sub continent is very important to turn fifteen because that’s the age where girls become women, or something like that. It even has its own name (I don’t know the translation), it’s like a sweet sixteen for the Americans.
Well, the problem here is that I don’t want it. I never like birthday parties, and I’m being pretty honest about it. I just made like seven birthday parties, and even then those parties weren’t because I liked the idea; I just liked the presents and attention, but now I don’t even like that. My mother and I have been fighting over this since the year started, and no, I’m not joking or exaggerating this thing; it’s literally what we've been doing for five months.
My mom always dreamed of making her daughter a big party for her fifteenth birthday, and since I’m a rainbow baby and her only daughter, her desire has become stronger as time passes. Even one of my aunts, who is coming with her kids on my vacations, wants to celebrate me with a big party along with her own daughter and another cousin of mine; they both were born in August and are turning fifteen this year, too, so my aunt thinks that is a great idea, and they are fine with it, but I’m not.
I have expressed my desire to just wanting a peaceful day, which for me implies being alone in my room all day and night, watching series and playing video games, not being at a party with all my cousins. Damn, I didn’t even speak to them for like two years, and now I’m supposed to be fine sharing a birthday! My mom and aunt are already asking me how I want the party, and my answer is always the same: “I want that thing canceled.” My aunt and mom always laughed, and that makes me angrier every time. The last time they asked me how I wanted the party, I said something along the lines of, “If you dare to even take me out of my room, I will throw all the food on the floor and lock myself in my bedroom.” It was not my proudest moment, I had to admit. Of course, my mom was angry, and I nearly got grounded, but my dad defends me from her (finally).
Today in the afternoon, my mom told me to choose between two hotels for the party, and once again I told her that I don’t want the party, but she literally told me, “Well, you'll have to put up with it, because your aunts want to celebrate your fifteenth birthday.” Obviously I argue, and we get into a fight, and that leads to me being right here, in the middle of the night, writing this.
The worst part is that this isn’t even uncommon for them. Last year, the same thing happened. I told everyone that if they dare to throw me a party, then that party would be from them, not for me. They ignore me and throw the party anyway, and I stood by my words and just went out of the room to get water. And as you can suppose, yes, my mom gave me a lecture on how I need to be grateful of the things my family give to me.
So, AITAH for not want to have a fifteenth birthday party?

31, female
The only place I found that mentions similar reactions was a reddit post from 11 years ago, with no one figuring out the cause. Here's the thread https://www.reddit.com/DoesAnybodyElse/s/MAQwfHxtRb
This started happening to me when I was 9 years old. It only happens when I'm so sleepy that it's difficult to keep my eyes open.
It seems to only be caused by overly sweet items, such as cake frosting, donuts, brownies, etc.
The second the sugar hits my throat, I get "tingling" in several spots on my head and spine. I would describe it more as a "tickle" than a tingle.
It causes my eyes to flutter and slightly roll back, and an involuntary giggle or two.
It leaves me with a mental and physical state that I find similar to Valium before an operation.I have asked other people if they experience this and have been told "no" every time.
I'm asking in this sub because I'm only finding limited research and they all mention Diabetes off the bat. I'm not satisfied with that probable cause.
Anyone know what I'm talking about?

I am obsessively refreshing this page and the page we do not speak of. Praying for an early list. Papa Air Force please bless us. I know I have a 2% chance, but come on, remember when you let me eat the cake from the display? Give me something to drink to whether good or bad. I Air Person. I needy. Me brain 🧠 le fritz.
Thanks,
v/r
Sweet Potatoes

Hi Everyone! I’ve always loved good smelling stuff and for the last 15 years I’ve usually had one bottle of cologne, and would replace once it’s out. Only in the last few months have I really delved into this world and began filling out a modest collection. I’m definitely not an expert (so take my reviews with a big grain of salt) but I love smelling and writing so here ya go. (Fucking wall of text incoming lmao, I didn’t realize how lengthy this got)
I just got back from a three-hour mall trip to try and get my nose on as many niche fragrances as my senses would tolerate. I had already done a good bit of research so I had some picked out to try and others already crossed-off. Im a 30M for reference.
I also had the goal in mind to find a contender for a fall/winter scent that exudes class, sophistication and decadence. For that, I’ve already tried a few that I really enjoy, and kind of used these as a springboard to continue exploring:
Xerjoff Alexandria II- This is what I envision royalty wearing. Lavender and rosewood mix soooo nice in the open, and dries into a lovey rose/vanilla/essence of oud. The oud is really toned down here for those that dislike it. It’s kind of hard to pick out. Nuclear performance.
Initio Oud for Greatness- Another good starter oud, you could say (this was my introduction to oud). It lasts forever and the dry down is seriously heavenly. The wet, soily oud is at the forefront for 2-4 hours, but I’m absolutely in love with what’s left when it disappears. Lavender, saffron, nutmeg and musk mixes into the best dryer-sheet-like scent I’ve come across (what it reminds ME of at least).
Perfums de Marly Haltane- Quite similar in the opening to Oud for Greatness. Haltane is darker, though, where I get more leathesmoke. I think the oud in this is more subdued, or at least less moist smelling. It blends well and lasts a good while.
Initio Atomic Rose- Holy shit. Apparently rose gets my motor GOING. I tried a lot of rose-centric fragrances today, but this probably still takes the cake for its balance and strength, in addition to the scent itself being just gorgeous.
So with those in mind I was off to Neiman Marcus. I sampled a large amount more than what I’ve written, but stuck to the ones that were memorable; good or bad.
Frederic Malle - Portrait of a Lady- My favorite of the Frederic Malle. Sensual rose/clove/currant at the front, but it is kind of hard to pick out specific notes on this one. After looking, I can get the cinnamon in the background of the dry down, it blends perfectly with the sandalwood, rose and benzoin after drying down. - Carnal Flower- Some similarity to POAL, lots of tuberose and jasmine, which I personally like. A bright yet sensual floral, and you get some coconut and melon there, too. I typically dislike coconut but this is blended masterfully. - Lipstick Rose- Yeah, that’s what it smells like. Try this if you’ve seen people describe scents as lipstick-y or violet taking on that accord. Not my cup of tea, also leans more feminine to my nose than the other two. - Musc Ravageur- I really wanted to like this one. And for a split second I did! A clove-y vanilla sasparilla is what I first got, and it unfortunately turned into barnyard urine. I immediately remembered seeing some reviews stating this, and I couldn’t get my nose to move past it. I can tell there’s good stuff there, but not for me.
Amouage - Reflection- The only one I’d tried before, and remains one of my favs. Rosemary and pink pepper greet you with a deep, fresh spice. The vetiver and patchouli sit nicely at the bottom, and the combination of white florals mixes wonderfully. Another scent I could imagine on royalty, and seems pretty versatile, too. You could wear this year-round without feeling out of place. Insane staying power. - Lyric- Probably my favorite, but I need to smell again on another day. Compared to the other Amouage, I had to continually stick my nose in the coffe beans to pick up the scent from the test strip. When I did get it, it was a lovely light, fresh scent. Quite a departure from the other Amouage I’ve tried, but great. No surprise, the list of notes are some of my favorites: lime, bergamot, rose, orange blossom, saffron, nutmeg, musk, pine, vanilla, incense, sandalwood. Seriously, love each and all those individually and they come together beautifully. - Interlude- Another good one. Dark, mysterious. Definitely get the oregano/peppepatchouli/incense bomb off the top. Leather lurking behind. I typically don’t gravitate toward the leathery scents but this one’s good. - Enclave- This pretty much seals the deal for me that on me, mint just ain’t it. I liked Sedley at first, but the mint somehow gets too cloying to my nose after too long. I can tell I would get the same from the peppermint in the opening of Enclave. I almost liked this one, too. If you can even tolerate peppermint, you’ll enjoy this one.
Mind Games - Blockade- Wowww. First sniff love, here. Explosion of citrus, juicy fruit-y sex. I usually find myself staying away from citrus-forward scents but this shit is next level. This will be a contender for my next upscale summer buy. - Double Attack- Another love at first sniff. It’s familiar, though. Chocolate/orange/cinnamon/vanilla. You’ll want to eat it right up. I already have this box checked in my collection, but may come back to it in the future. - Checkmate- Another lovely scent. Champagne, red currant, rose, magnolia, little patchouli. It all comes together really nicely, and it was difficult for me to pick out specific notes before looking. Not a love, but I was really impressed with the quality and scent profile of the Mind Games I tried.
Clive Christian - Town & Country- Wow. No seriously, like fucking wow. Smells like an Italian fruit cart strolling through an English manor’s sprawling garden road. I look at the notes and I don’t understand how you get this smell supposedly out of Clary Sage, Ambergris, and Sandalwood. Like, what? This is high quality shit. I get some pear or grapes there, too. Try this. - Crab Apple Blossom- Yum yum yum this is goooood. Smells like it sounds. Bergamot, apple blossom and rhubarb dance around playfully together. Can’t help but have a big stupid smile on your face when you smell this. The more it dried down, the more it might be my favorite over Town & Country. - Matsukita- Another great scent. In the same vein as the other two since they are part of the same “Crown Collection.” You get some smokiness, here. Bergamot with nutmeg and mate give depth and a little mystery. White florals, woody ambers and musk at the base. Just quality stuff here. All three of these in the Crown Collection were available in 10ml travel size gift pack for $300. Good idea to put on my wish list. That shit is kiiiinda expensive.
Xerjoff - Erba Pura- I did not expect to like this as much as I did! Favorite that I sampled. Perfect combination of citrus and fruitiness off the top, layered over a bed of sweet musk. Something here is very familiar to my nose but I couldn’t place it. This will be another top contender for a future upscale summer purchase. - Accento- Soothing scent. Fruity white floral (usually dumb reach for me), and the iris gives it some powder but not overpowering. Not as feminine-leaning as I would have expected. - Iommi- Delicious! Sweet smoky rum off the top, and it’s a little surprising how forward the patchouli and leather is in this. It’s bordering on being a little overpowering, but it tames a bit on the dry down. I’d need to see how this goes on my skin, for sure. - Torino 21- Another one that I liked way more than expected. I’m going back and seeing mint listed as a top note here…I didn’t get that! And thank God since mint usually is a non-starter. Kind of an aquatic green to my nose. Again, just a lovely scent. - Naxos- Yeah ok this is good shit. I was expecting a sweet bomb, but this is definitely more restrained than what a lot of reviewers will have you believe. I’m a sucker for lavender and bergamot. Throw in honey and jasmine atop a bed of tobacco, vanilla and tonka bean? Yes please. - Erba Gold- Pretty good. To my nose more feminine than Erba Pura, likely due to the extra fruits in the middle. That combination of citruses, pear and melon is reminiscent of particular ladies’ scents.
Louis Vuitton - L’Immensité- Ohhhh yeahh. Relaxation in a bottle. My favorite besides maybe Fleur du Desert. This, Imagination and Météore all kind of dance to the same song, so to speak. More than one of these would be redundant, in my opinion. The quality speaks through each of these fragrances, though- really nice stuff. - Imagination- The name fits, as a lot of the notes here are almost fleeting like a word on the tip of your tongue. It’s a great, calming scent but it didn’t blow me away. Like I said, L’Immensité was the best of these and I don’t see the need to diversify within this collection. - Météore- Compared to L’Immensité, there’s a little more sweetness here. This leans closer to a shower gel-like scent in my opinion. Still great. - Fleur du Désert- This one started out reallly good. Honey and cinnamon into rose and orange blossom is an intriguing, sensual combination. Unfortunately, smelling it on my arm after a couple hours, the jasmine and honey turn into something my mind recognizes as an old lady scent. The POAL on my hand, by comparison, keeps mixing with my skin in a great pheromonic way. - Ombre Nomad- Disappointed with this one. I’m realizing I don’t gravitate toward darker scents like heavy oud, leather, incense. I can tell it’s put together really well and uses quality materials, but this isn’t one that was made for me.
All in all, my main take-aways include: Xerjoff scents living up to the name. I was definitely impressed with their offerings, and would have expected it to lean closer to overrated. Same with Mind Games. Really enjoyed everything I sampled from them, even if it wasn’t my cup of tea, I was impressed with the quality. Also, I need to get back and sample the rest of the Clive Christian house. I was absolutely blown away with what I tried.
A little bonus: I tried TF Noir de Noir, Extreme Noir, and Cafe Rose. Extreme Noir is excellent. A regal mix of saffron, nutmeg and cardamom on top of rose and white florals. Ahhhh, again, similar to what I imagine a king or king to smell like.
Cafe Rose is probably the second best rose-centric scent to my nose besides Atomic Rose. I’ll need to put those side by side.
Anyway, feel free to ask away if you’d like. I was bored and inspired so killed some time writing this out :)

🫂 🙏Namaste 🙏🫂

Hey! 🎂✨ Happy Birthday to you

Here is a small bday song for ya! 🙂 Music, Claps 1,2,3....start! ✴️
Happy Birthday to you! 🤝
Happy Birthday to You! ✨
Happy Birthday Dear Human
Happy Birthday to You! 💐
From good friends and true 🌄 From old friends and new🎉
May good luck go with you, And happiness too 😇 Happppyy Birthhdayyy Tooo Youuu!! 💫

Want with some actual music?

here!
Happy belated birthday! Orr happy birthday in advance!
Hope ur having a great day! And life! Things will be great again! 🤝

PS: it's not my bday.

Here is the cake with Natural Sweetness (for your good health)! Lol 🧁🧁m

Hey, hi, hello.
I’ve been posting on and off for a few years now and I’m sure some of you are sick of seeing me. Oh well, we’re in this sub for one reason and one reason only: to find a connection and possibly a happy ending.
I’ve been told I’m too picky and too open about myself; I don’t think Im either of these things. We all have different tastes and expectations from other people and that’s fine. And yes, I am very open about who I am, shouldn’t we all be? Would save us some disappointment.
I did try numerous dating sites and chatrooms but to no avail; those whove been in the same situation know what’s that like. I have a fair share of horror stories from dating apps and who knows, one day I could share these with you!!
Before I move onto the spiel about myself and how much of a catch I am please read below:
About you:
-living the UK/Europe/US (max of 6h time difference)
-a straight man
-a homebody, with the occasional want to go out and do things
-aged 29 – 48 (I will not reply if you’re not within the age bracket)
-speak English (for communication purposes duh)
-child free (and must want to remain this way)
-MONOGAMOUS
-NO PREFERENCE HEIGHT OR BODY WISE, I’m all about a nice face
-impeccable basic personal hygiene (not expecting you smelling like your local perfume store)
-no addictions (ie excessive alcohol use, smoking and any type of illegal drugs)
-respectful, loyal, funny, affectionate, caring, loving and patient (a lot of it needed with me).
-will not demand any personal content (if you know what I eamn)
-in full time employment (if we are long distance, how else are you going to fund your travels?)
But beyond all that I’m after a best friend. Someone who will have my back until the end. Someone who will accept me for who I am and wouldn’t want to change me (I can offer the same back). Someone who will enter my life and assume the role of my partner (eventually) and join me on this rather bizarre journey called life. Don’t give up on me and I wont give up on you.
I will not respond to any messages along the lines of ‘hru’. ‘hi’.
Once again, no budging on the age or location.
If your profile contains anything inappropriate, I won’t respond either.
I think I made myself more than clear.
Just one more thing, I promise!!!!
This is not to get any attention or sympathy or help; more of a prewarning. I have met a lot of amazing people on here who got their hopes up about me and once things didn’t seem to be as amazing as this image, they had of me they left.
I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of 12, as well as severe anxiety (no self-diagnosis here, by an actual professional). I take meds for it but some days are worse than the others. I’m also on the waiting list to get help, but like me you’re in the UK you’ll know what this is like (no issues with the NHS, they’re amazing; just overworked and understaffed). I can’t afford to go privately. At this moment in time,I am about 2 years away from seeing someone.
I suffer from fibromyalgia (if you don’t know what this is, just google it) in late 2019 after ruling everything out. I have days when I’m extremely exhausted and in a lot of pain. I still go to work and try to go on about my life as much as possible but please bear that in mind.
Ive been taking all sorts of meds too, including painkillers to control the pain.
Please don’t see me as someone hopeless or feel sorry for me. This is not the point of this confession.
My name is Anita and I’m a 29yo Eastern European woman, living in the UK just outside of Bristol. I’ve been here for the last 17 years and I consider myself England my home. I’m not considering moving back at any point in my life (however I’ll move elsewhere for the right reasons and right person). I will share my exact location once we’re acquainted a bit more.
I’m 6ft tall (yes I am this tall and I’m aware that it’s way too tall for a woman) and. weight approx 13st or 200lbs (my weight keeps fluctuating a lot and no, I’m not looking for any tips to lose weight). I dye my hair red but it’s more like ginger these days. I have green eyes (they’re useless as I wear glasses) and I wear a lot of black eyeliner lol. I guess you could say I’m kinda emo/goth?
An extreme introvert since I was a young one (definitely not shy, in fact I can get a bit volatile when it comes to standing up for myself). I don’t need to get out of my shell, so none of that please. I like my own company as well as my loved ones; and leaving the house only for work and groceries suits me well.
I’m a vegetarian (not a deal breaker if you’re not; your choice is to eat meat and mine isn’t. Respect it and you shall receive the same back). I think it’s time for everyone live and let others live too.
Tea, coffee and snack addict! (I love herbal tea with no sugar or milk; coffee wise I like a good cap or a caramel macchiato as a treat. Snack wise anything goes really. Fruit, crisps, cake and sweets!)
Bookworm (I haven’t read in a long time, I love books I promise. Just haven’t had much time lately. I have a stack of them which is growing. I need to finally find some time and immerse myself in one of many crime novels I have).
Apolitical (now, I read the news everyday but I do not support any of the parties. They don’t care about you or me, sorry to break this to you).
Animal lover (I have 4 rescued cats two boys and two girls aged between 10-11 who are my absolute life. In total, my mum and I have rescued about 60 cats in the last 10 years. We found them safe and loving homes but for some of them unfortunately it was too late).
No addictions here (I don’t drink or smoke; although I like my vapes a lot).
In my spare time (whatever I get of it) I like to go for walks, listen to music and podcasts, nap, watch tv, chill with my mum and cats, go shopping and grab a coffee with my ma, visit my brother in London, over eat, over think and read books.
I don’t really have any hobbies.
I don’t game religiously but I do enjoy sims 4 (someone told me that isn’t gaming although I’d say it’s a computer game so clues in the name but what do I know, right?) I don’t watch anime either, tried once and couldn’t get into it.
As you can tell, I’m just a relatively unremarkable human being, trying to find her place in this world. And I’m happy about that, being in the limelight is the last thing I know.
With that being said, if you managed to get through my ramblings and they somewhat resonated with you, shoot me a message.
Message me with your name, age and location and what caught your eye about my post. Don’t have to send me your picture right away; I won’t send mine until I’m comfortable enough. To show that you have read, end your message with ‘toodlepip’.
I will respond as soon as I can but please note that there might be delays in messaging back due to well… life being life I suppose.
And if you didn’t like what you read… well then scroll along, no need to let me know about this in the comments or to message me to call me names. It’s nice to be nice.
Thank you for reading this and looking forward to seeing some messages. If not, best of luck in your search!!!

Club Vlad sat near the confluence of Central Avenue and Washington Avenue, Albany’s two main thoroughfares. Two stories with blackout windows and a box office from when it used to be a movie theater, it was swarmed with people when Dom first spotted it ahead. He was somewhat familiar with it: He passed it every day on his way to work, and it was always busy around his time of evening, even on weeknights. Part of him always wanted to go inside and be a part of the scene, but he never did.
The man in sunglasses - his name was Joe - led Dom toward the club, and even before Joe spoke, Dom somehow knew that it was their destination. “There,” Joe said. “We’ll go around back.”
Dom and Joe had been walking for what seemed like an hour but couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. Dom stuck as close to Joe as possible as if for protection, and had become accustomed to his pungent smell. It was noticeable only at extremely close range, part sickly sweet and part…something else, something Dom could not place but still somehow recognized. They were two blocks from the club, maybe three, and Dom could hear the pulsing techo/house/whatever music as clearly as if he were standing in the middle of the dancefloor. He could hear the chatter of the people inside, or at least he imagined he could. He could smell them too: Beneath the odors of perfume, desperation, and spiritual rot was something richer, something blissful. Dom realized for the first time that he was parched - so parched - and drool filled his mouth.
A crowd of people waited outside Club Vlad, talking and laughing; some vaped, some stared down at their cellphones like Gollum with his precious ring. Dom’s first reaction was to avoid them. Perhaps sensing this…or perhaps feeling it himself…Joe ducked into an alleyway two doors down from the club. “We’ll go in the back,” Joe explained.
The back entrance to Club Vlad was a single door underneath a bare bulb. The music was so loud that Dom’s head began to throb. Inside, a dark hallway terminated in an archway filled with throbbing white light. Dread filled Dom as they approached it - he didn’t want to be around people - but thankfully they went into a room off the hall instead. An office. A cramped desk, a filing cabinet. A set of stairs disappeared into shadows.
“Sit,” Joe said.
Dom obeyed, sitting in the swivel chair.
Joe went up the stairs and Dom was alone. The deep coldness that had long settled into his bones made itself known again, and Dom leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his chest for warmth. The muffled music vibrated in his skull, setting his teeth on edge, and the various smells wafting in from the main room assaulted his senses. He was alternately repulsed and aroused by the crashing din of scents: The good, the bad, and the mouth watering. A sharp pain cut through his stomach like the killing edge of a knife, and Dom hugged himself tighter. Had his throat always been this dry? His throat felt like sandpaper; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and getting it unstuck hurt so badly that tears sprang to his eyes.
Dom rubbed his arms with his hands and tried to still his chattering teeth. He looked around for a blanket, a discarded jacket, something to cover himself with, but there was nothing. Only drifts of glitter on the floor and walls. He supposed it came from a party or something. He’d never been to a night club but it seemed fitting.
A sound drew his attention to the door leading back into the hall. A woman - no older than a girl - stood there, looking confused and unsteady. She was dressed in black, wore glow sticks around her wrists and neck, and held a red solo cup. “I have to pee,” she said drunkenly and laughed. “I thought this was the bathroom.”
A cold wind washed over Dom, and Joe was standing next to him. “The bathroom’s up here,” he said.
“Oh, good,” the girl laughed, “I thought it was here but I didn’t know. This is my first time here.” She held her cup aloft. “Take me to it.”
Joe glanced at Dom. “Come on.”
They formed a party as they climbed the stairs, Dom in the tear and Joe at the head. The girl stumbled and held onto the railing, talking incessantly. Her voice hurt Dom’s head, but the hot smell wafting from her was intoxicating. Drool coursed down his chin and his breathing came in short, hot bursts. Another sharp pain rent his stomach, and he winced.
At the top of the stairs, where the lights were cold and white, a woman in black stood by a doorway, her back ramrod straight and her eyes vacant. Her face was gaunt, her white flesh pulled tight across her skull. She wore a black dress and her black hair long and straight. Dom only caught a glance at her before looking away again.
She looked like a ghost.
“Show her the bathroom,” Joe said.
The woman’s eyes slowly, ponderles, went from Joe to the drunk girl. Her expression, like Joe’s, was dead. She had no expression. “This way.”
She and the drunk girl disappeared down the hall, and Joe led Dom into a room. Though it was pitch black, Dom could still see; not very well…but he could see. Suddenly, a blinding white light flicked on in front of him, causing him to stop and fall back a step. Ahead, through an archway, sat a vaulted chamber, at the center of which sat a man. To Dom’s light dazzled eyes, he seemed a proud king perched upon a throne, the skulls of his many enemies piled around him. Dom blinked and turned his head slightly to the side. His eyes began to adjust, and the world came into focus.
The man was not, as it had first seemed, sitting on a throne. Instead, he was esconded in a motorized wheelchair. The piles of skulls were actually various pieces of machinery, the kind you’d find in a hospital room. A clear tube extended from one of them to the side of the man’s neck: Yellow liquid flowed from the machine and into the man. Another tube, this one in the other side of his neck, filtered out a mixture of what looked like yellow pus and black sludge. An infected malodor filled the air, and the machines whirred softly as they worked.
As for the man himself, his appearance was normal at first glance, Dressed in a flowing red velvet robe, a blue and green blanket with a plaid pattern draped over his shoulders, he was portly, about fifty, and had shoulder length grayish hair with a bald spot in the middle. If the local theater put on a production of Hamilton, they could cast a worse Ben Franklin than him.
On closer inspection, he was not normal at all. His complexion was yellow and waxy, like a statue, and his body was lumpy, misshapen, resembling an overfilled trash bag stuffed with cotton. His eyes were sick and yellow, and something about his posture seemed…off. It didn’t make sense, but the only thing Dom could think was: He looks impossible.
Joe stopped at the edge of the shadows, where the line between light and darkness lay. He seemed to stand up a little straighter, a general greeting his king. “Here he is,” Joe said.
The man squinted slightly against the glare of the light and motioned with one gnarled hand. “Step into the light,” he said. His voice was soft and kind, that of a senile though loving grandmother. Dom imagined he felt a pull toward the man, and did as he was bidden, wincing as the light stung his eyes.
For a moment, the man stared at him, his waxen features frozen fast as stone. Then, a subtle look of compassion flickered across his face. Dom did not believe in God, but he suddenly felt like a man standing before God, his every thought, feeling, and transgression laid bare. He had never felt so naked in his life, so exposed. He had the sense that the man before him could see everything, knew everything.
“You’ve been through a lot,” the man said. It was not a question, but a statement.
Everything Dom had been through over the past couple of days came back to him in a rush, and hot tears filled his eyes. He nodded.
The man nodded slightly, more to himself than to Dom. “Kneel down,” he said, “I want to look at you.”
Dom knelt without question.
The man lifted one hand and touched Dom’s face, tilting Dom’s head from one side to the other like a farmer appraising a horse. His fingers were long and bony, his nails ragged and unkempt; his touch was like ice. He brushed his knuckles over the purple bruise on Dom’s cheek, and there was such gentleness in that one act that Dom broke down sobbing. He leaned into the man’s touch like a cat and gave voice to his misery.
“Shhh,” the man said, “it’s all over now.”
“W-What’s happening to me?” Dom asked.
In his heart of hearts, however, he already knew.
“You died,” the man said patiently. “And you came back.”
Hearing it stated so plainly, Dom cried even harder.
“Only a handful of people throughout history can claim to have defeated death,” the man said, stroking Dom’s hair, “and you’re one of them. You should be proud.”
“How?” Dom asked between sobs. “What am I?”
The man stroked Dom’s cheek. “You’re the same thing I am.”
At that, Dom looked up at the man. “What are you?” he asked.
A little, knowing smile touched the man’s lips, and when he spoke, his canine teeth were longer and sharper than before. “I’m a vampire.”
“No,” Dom moaned and shook his head, “no, no, no.” He grabbed the man’s hand and held tight, his tears coming faster. He trembled like a frightened animal and squeezed his eyes closed, as if by doing so he could escape the hell his life had become.
But there was no escape.
“You have a lot of questions,” the man said, monologuing now rather than speaking directly to Dom, “I had the same questions when I was your age. I have spent the last forty-two years of my life trying to answer them, but every answer I find leads me to still more questions. There’s one thing I’m certain of, though.”
Dom blinked the tears from his eyes. The last of them had been squeezed from his dead tear ducts and he had no more to give. He simply stared into space, trying to come to grips with his situation.
“There is freedom in death,” the man said. “Death is easy. It’s simple. Once it’s over, you feel no pain, no sadness, no grief. It’s living that’s hard.”
As he spoke, he brushed his long nails across Dom’s scalp. It was a soothing feeling, and served to calm him. “People have so many troubles.” A note of revulsion crept into his voice. “So many needs, so many desires. People are complex but we’re not. We’re easy to please. A vampire wants only two things: A little blood and one more night.”
The combination of his touch and his voice had pacified Dom to the point of almost tranquility. “I’m scared,” Dom heard himself mumble.
Nodding almost reluctantly, the man said, “Fear is one of the only emotions a vampire can’t escape. Everything feels fear. Do you want to know a secret?”
Dom nodded.
“I’m afraid too,” the man confessed. “I’m afraid of death. Well…death as it were. I’m terrified that my body will rot away and leave me a pile of bones somewhere, unable to move but still aware”
A shudder went through Dom.
“As I’m sure you’ve seen yourself, the movies lied. We rot just like any other dead thing. Our flesh decays, our organs turn to sludge, and we go from rational men to monsters whose only thought is feeding.”
Now it was his turn to shiver.
“But…you’re not like that,: Dom said.’
The man smiled. “I’m lucky, I guess” A thin yellow fluid began to drip from his nostrils. He did not seem to notice. “What is your name?”
“Dominick,” Dom said.
“I’m Merrick,” the man said, “and this is my family.”
Dom realized that they were now surrounded by others, ten in all. They stood ramrod straight, their eyes vacant and their faces devoid of humanity. They were mainly men, though one was a woman. Some were pale, others were blue or black, and one was little more than a skeleton clad in withered brown skin, a white button up and jeans hanging from its frame.
A thought occurred to Dom. “You said my brain was going to rot…”
“Not necessarily,” Merrick cautioned, “though it’s possible.”
“Am I going to be…?”
“Like them?” Merrick asked. “Braindead and staring?”
Sheepishly, Dom nodded.
“Maybe,” Merrick allowed. “But these people are free of everything that troubles humanity. You were human just a short time ago. I’m sure you remember all too well what it was like. The constant politics, the moral quandaries, the philosophical pontificating. Human beings - and make no mistake, we are humans - were not meant for all of that. We’re animals. We were made to hunt, fuck, and sleep. Somewhere along the way, we got pretentious and started complicating things.” He looked at Dom, sizing him up, seeming to read him. “Things that animals take for granted, people work their entire lives to achieve. If an animal wants to fornicate, it fornicates. If a man wants to fornicate, he needs to be tall, handsome, rich, funny, progressive when it suits women but traditional when it doesn’t. If a man wants a home, he has to work thirty years for it. An animal has only to dig a hole in the ground.”
Every word struck a chord with Dom.
Because every word was true.
“Unfortunately, the living won’t allow us to live that freely, so we have to hide. These people here - my children - need a guiding hand, a protector, someone who can lead them. And I, an old man, need help.” Here he smiled playfully and patted his bulging stomach. “My body is mostly sawdust and cotton balls at this point, so I can’t do much. I share my wisdom and my knowledge with them, and they take care of me.”
“Why haven’t you…rotted?” Dom asked.
“Embalming fluid,” Merrick said. “Blood doesn’t sustain you. Embalming fluid does.” He smiled at Dom. “It can sustain you as well. If you’ll stay with us. We’re not the most attractive bunch, but we’re a family, and we really wish you’d join us.”
A family.
Dom’s parents had broken up and he lived with his mother. He had never had a family before, and had always wanted one, a real one, like in the movies. Even as a grown man, he sought the love, acceptance, and belonging that a family brings. He sought it in the wrong ways, but that - and not sex, not romantic love - is what he had really wanted all along.
This is what he had wanted all along.
“I want to,” Dom said.
Working quickly, Merrick slashed his wrist open with his thumbnail. An ugly mixture of stale blood, siphoned from someone else, and embalming fluid leaked out. “If you choose to drink, my blood will be in you. You will be my son and I will be your father. You will obey me as your father. You will do whatever is asked of you for this family, as this family will do for you. You will not reveal the secrets of this family to anyone outside of it. You will protect this family from all threats, both inside and out. Do you accept?”
He held his bleeding wrist out to Dom.
Dom did not question, nor did he hesitate. He grabbed the hand of his father, brought it to his mouth, and drank from the seeping wound. The fluid was cold, thick, and vile.
It tasted like belonging.
“Have you fed yet?”
“No,” Dom said.
“Before you do, I have a question for you. Who did this to you? Who made you?”
Dom thought. Everything was hazy. “Was it someone in this room?” Merrick asked.
Dom shook his head. “Her name is…” he wracked his brain. “Heather.”
Merrick nodded. “So there’s another out there.” He looked at Joe. “Did you turn her?”
“Yes,” Joe said.
Merrick looked annoyed. “I’ve told you not to go out and feed on your own. You have no self-control. You drink too much and create others, which creates headaches for the family. Tomorrow night, I want you and Dom to find her and bring her here.” “Okay,” Joe said.
Merrick looked over Dom’s shoulder. “Jess? Can you come here?”
The black haired woman from earlier came out of the shadows, the drunk girl with her, arms tied behind her back. The girl looked dazed. “Max,” Merrick said to the skeletal corpse-thing, “help her.”
Max, Jessie, and another vampire named Matt tied chains around the girl’s ankles and hoisted her aloft via a pulley system. Upside down, she swung back and forth. Merrick instructed the others to leave the room. “Max,” he said.
On his way out, the corpse-thing produced a knife and dragged it across the girl’s throat, slicing her skin; blood spurted out. Max leaned in to taste it, but Merrick shooed him away. When he and Dom were alone, Merrick told Dom, “Go to her.”
But Dom was already on his feet, his eyes transfixed by the crimson life flowing from her pumping throat. The hot, rich smell filled his nostrils and tantalized his senses. Saliva filled his mouth and his stomach panged with hunger. Some small, human part of his decaying brain screamed at him to stop, but he did not listen to it. He had been human for almost thirty years, and he had been miserable. Now, in this chamber of the undead, he gave himself over to his dark thirst. Like a man in a dream, he shuffled to her, inhaled the sweet scent of her blood, and shivered. He was so lost in lust that he hardly noticed the strange, cumbersome feeling of his descended fangs.
“Drink,” Merrick said.
Opening his mouth wide, Dom sank his teeth into the girl’s neck. Her blood filled his mouth and splashed down his throat. Warmth thawed the ice in his marrow and spread through him. His dead heart began to flutter, then to pound. His knees shook, his body trembled, and his mind rolled away on a tide of ecstasy.
As it was his first meal, he couldn’t drink much. Before long, his stomach was hard and distended and his body burned with fire. He collapsed to a heap on the floor and twitched as random nerve endings, stimulated by the blood, began to misfire. He felt full, warm, and drunk. He closed his eyes and let himself drift.
Dominick Mason had died.
And this…
This was heaven.
***
With all that was happening in the city of Albany, the last thing Bruce Kenner needed on Thursday morning was a visit from Bertha the bitch, but that’s exactly what he got. She flew into his office like she owned the place and instantly started in on him. Young man this and have you talked to Joe Rossi that. You’d think she was his boss. And if she were his boss, he’d quit and find another line of work. He heard McDonald’s was hiring.
Bruce almost snapped at her. He’d been up most of last night riding around Albany and looking for Dominick Mason. He and Vanessa expected him to drop dead somewhere close to the medical examiner’s office, but if he had, he’d done so in a super secret location.
“I’ve been busy,” Bruce said, “but I’m going to go by his place of work today.”
Tired and still confused over that bullshit from last night, he had no energy to argue with the old crone. He could spare a few minutes to talk to Joe Rossi, he figured. He assumed that Jessie was safe but he owed it to her to check. If he found the girl, he’d take her back to her grandmother (sorry, kid, really) and try to avoid arresting the guy. Unless he came off as a creep, then he’d bust his ass. See, people assumed that an older guy with a younger girlfriend was some master manipulator hell bent on evil deeds. Sometimes they were, but hell, his grandparents married when his grandpa was twenty-one and his grandma sixteen. They were married for fifty-five years and loved each other to the end. Maybe it was innocent, maybe not. It wasn’t his job to judge either way. Just gimme the girl so I can get her grandma off my back and no one gets hurt.
“It’s about time you started doing your job,” Bertha said, “I heard on the police scanner last night that you people lost a body. What kind of town is this? Your coroner is a drunk who makes up stories about bodies walking away. He probably sold it to black people.”
Bruce couldn’t help it; he snorted laughter.
“Now what would black people want with a dead body?”
“Probably to use it as a prop in one of their rap videos.”
Bruce didn’t know much about music videos, but he was pretty sure that the people who made them didn’t like the smell of corpse any more than the rest of us. “I’ll be sure to round up all the local rappers for questioning. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Luckily for him, there was not, and Bertha left shortly thereafter. Alone and able to hear himself think, Bruce sat back in his chair and went over his mental checklist for the day. First order of business, go to Club Vlad. Second, find Dominick Mason. There were others, but that was the most important. He wanted the body found so someone could get to work explaining this whole weird thing. There had to be an explanation. The thought that there wasn’t, that a dead guy literally rose from the grave and disappeared into the night, deeply disturbed Bruce, and the more this whole thing remained ongoing, the more disturbed he would become.
Needing some fresh air, he decided to hit up Club Vlad.
Outside, the day was hot and sunny. Waves of heat shimmered from the pavement and not a single breath of air stirred in the whole world. Bruce slipped on a pair of sunglasses and drove over to Club Vlad. It occurred to him that the place might be closed during the day; it was the only place Joe Rossi was associated with. His address in the computer system was Glens Falls, far to the north. The messages he sent Jessie indicated that he lived onsite at Club Vlad.
The build, wedged between a corner store and a check cashing place, was as grimy and dumpy looking as it had always been. The front windows were blacked out and covered with posters and fliers for punk concerts, house bands, and far left political organizations: The Albany Social Justice Center, something called Bash the Fash 2025, and Bruce’s favorite. ACAB. He caught some kid spraying that on the side of the police station once, and under extreme police torture (ie, a good tongue lashing), the kid told him it meant All Cops Are Barnacleheads.
Bruce shot the kid on the spot and planted a gun on him.
How's that for barnaclehead?
Calm down, he didn’t really do that. He made him clean the graffiti off with a toothbrush. LOL he was out there for hours.
The sidewalk in front of the former theater was empty save for some little. The box office was abandoned. There was no open sigh, but then again, there was no closed sign either. He parked his cruiser at the curb, killed the engine, and got out, sweat instantly springing to his brow.
To his surprise, the door opened. Inside, a couple steps led down to a dance floor. A bar lined the wall to his right, and a couple more sets led up to a railed platform filled with tables. Above, a huge balcony looked down on him. A giant disco ball hung from the ceiling like a pair of glittery nuts and there were cages here and there. Presumably where girls danced go-go style. Oh yeah, nothing hotter than a woman behind bars. Why do you think Bruce became a cop in the first place?
Speaking of glittery nuts, there was glitter everywhere. On the floor, on the tables, on the bar. It twinkled like flecks of diamond and swirled around your feet when you walked. Bruce imagined big buckets of the stuff raining down on the dance floor at midnight and he shuddered. Imagine having glitter stuck in your hair. That shit would never come out.
Music played from the sound system, not as loud as it would be during operating hours. It sounded like ‘80s metal, not exactly what he expected from a place like this.
Some say life she's a lady
Kinda soft, kinda shady
I can tell you life is rich
She's no lady, she's a bitch
Being morning, the place was deserted except for a man behind the bar, busy at cleaning the countertop in anticipation for the night’s events. He was tall, Hispanic or Italian, and feminine, with a single earring and a tank top.
Bruce moseyed over to the bar and the barkeep looked up, missing a beat when he realized the fuzz was here. He sat down his rag and walked over. “Can I help you?” he asked in a whispy voice.
“Yeah,” Bruce said, “I’m looking for Joe Rossi. Is he here?”
“I don’t know,” the bartender said. He looked nervous. “I can check.”
Before Bruce could answer, he scurried off, leaving him alone.
They suck my body out
But friend there is no doubt
I'm gonna pay the devil his dues
Cause I'm sick of being abused
Bruce looked around, his fingers absently drumming on the countertop. Club Vlad was a clashing mix of grunge and glam that made his head hurt. He imagined what the place must be like at midnight, packed and noisy, and nodded to himself. Yeah, this was the spot, he guessed, the place all the cool kids went, if they went anywhere anymore. Hell, if he was thirty years younger, he might come here.
He had been waiting for almost twenty minutes when a voice spoke behind him. He turned with a start, and beheld the strangest man he had ever seen in his life. Short and plump - lumpy, even - he sat in a wheelchair, a red blanket draped over his shoulders and his hands resting on his knees. He was about fifty with sparse gray hair falling to his shoulders and a plastic-looking face. He looked like a wax statue of Ben Franklin come to life, and a deep sense of disquiet stirred in the pit of Bruce’s stomach.
Just can't fight the temptation
It's become my inspiration
Gonna get myself an axe
Break some heads, break some backs
It was only then that Bruce noticed the sickly sweet smell of death.
It seemed to come from the man in waves.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man said, “my name is Merrick Garvis and I own Club Vlad. Maybe I can be of assistance.”
Bruce grew up in the south where manners and saving face were paramount. His mother and his grandmother both taught him that it was impolite to stare. Maybe he'd been in New York so long that he’d forgotten himself, or maybe Merrick Garvis was just the strangest looking man in the world. Either way, Bruce couldn’t help gaping at his strange appearance. Recovering, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I -”
Merrick smiled and waved one hand. Why was it so goddamn skeletal? “Don’t worry. I was injured in a fire a long time ago and this is the best they could do for me. To be honest, I’d stare too. What can I help you with, officer?”
“I’d like to talk to Joe Rossi,” Bruce said. “I understand he works for you.”
“He did,” Merrick said, “but I had to let him go. Did he do something wrong?”
Bruce sighed. “Well, yeah, he’s shacked up with a sixteen year old runaway.”
A look of concern crossed Merrick’s features, such as they were. “Oh, my, that is concerning. I haven’t seen him in several days. I assume he went home. He lives in Glens Falls.”
Bruce nodded, his mind working. If Rossi really was in Glens Falls, that meant the whole mess was someone else’s problem. He could send Bertha up there to bother some other poor barnacle head and be rid of her. Yet…he didn’t think Rossi was in Glens Falls. Bruce had a knack for knowing when people were lying, and he was certain that Merrick Garvis was doing just that. It couldn’t be a facial tick, as his features were largely unmoving, like clay. Maybe it was something in his cloudy eyes. Maybe it was the tone of his voice. Or maybe Bruce had the shining and knew things just for the hell of it. In any event, the certainty that Merrick Garvis was lying grew stronger with each passing second.
“Why’d you fire him?”
“He got drunk and hit one of the customers.”
“What did he do?” Bruce asked. “What was his position?”
“He was a bouncer.”
“Aren’t bouncers supposed to hit people?”
Merrick fumbled. “Well…not to punch them in the face for bumping into them.”
“How long did he work for you?”
“Six months.”
“Did you ever see him with an underage girl?”
“Of course not,” Merrick said, “you have to be twenty-one to get in. I make sure everyone’s ID is checked at the door.”
“What if she had a fake ID?”
“Then I guess she’d get in, but I’d assume she was of legal age.”
“You said he shoved someone, when did this happen?”
“Last week,” Merrick said.
“I thought you said he hit someone.”
Merrick again fumbled. “I did.” Now his face seemed to darken a little. A strange yellowish liquid, too thin to be snot, began to drip from his nostrils. Bruce barely suppressed a smear of disgust. “I understand you have a job to do but playing mind games with me isn’t going to solve anything. I can give you his address. Other than that, I can’t help you further.”
“Fair enough,” Bruce said. “But I’d like to see your ID please.”
Merrick glared at him. “I suppose you want my name, rank, and serial number as well.”
“Actually, yeah, I’d love that.”
Merrick drew a deep sigh. “Okay.”
In five minutes, Bruce had Merrick’s ID, social, and all other relevant information. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have bothered, even though he was well within his rights to ask for this information from someone he was questioning. But something about Merrick Garvis was off, and not just his weird face or strangely bulbous body. Bruce was just smart enough to realize that something was going on here, but not quite smart enough to even begin to imagine what.
When he had everything he needed and saw no reason to stick around, Bruce bid Merrick farewell and left the club. Before he could do anything else, he got a call from dispatch: Officer needed assistance in Pine Hills. Bruce slipped behind the wheel and went forth to help, momentarily putting Merrick Garvis out of his mind.
But soon or later, he would get back to him.
Oh yes he would.

When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*

When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*

I originally posted this on the ED anonymous sub, (no replies yet) but then I found this sub! So I decided to share my situation here.
Apart from having autism and ADHD, I (26F, turning 27 at the end of the month) also have what my previous psychiatrist called a “neurological feeding disorder”.
This is due to impaired interception (internal body sensations) from neonatal brain damage. This brain damage was caused by a hemorrhage, which also caused cerebral palsy. I also have general anxiety disorder and depression.
As a child and teen, I definitely had ARFID behaviors, which were dismissed as picky eating behaviors. It’s just that “high-level” autism, ADHD, and ARFID wasn’t diagnosed in girls in the early 2000s.
I basically lived on a “beige diet” of cereal, bread, snack cakes, pasta, pizza, and some meat, like chicken strips or cheeseburgers. I wouldn’t eat sandwiches, eggs, seafood, fruits, or vegetables, except for peas and white potatoes.
I was somewhat underweight until high school, and I remember my mom would always offer me “chocolate milk” (Pediasure / Ensure) when I was younger. I then gained weight in high school due to depression and just generally eating processed food. At my highest weight in school, I was 135 pounds.
Here’s some backstory about where things started to shift. Trigger warning for numbers, skip over if needed.
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That carb-heavy diet was up until I turned 24, when I first tried a keto diet for mental health. Things were going really well, until I eventually developed malnutrition from losing too much weight unintentionally. My height is 4’8” tall.
I went from 110 pounds (BMI 25) and 28% body fat to 90 pounds (BMI 20) and 20% body fat in 10 months. October 2021 to August 2022. I couldn’t get warm worth a damn from subnormal body temperatures, and I lost my period at around 95 pounds.
Even so, a daily calorie intake of 1000-1200 per day on top of 2-3 miles of walking (daily activity and steps) would have eventually lead to relative energy deficiency (RED) at some point because I never knew about planning scheduled refeeding periods to mitigate the down-regulation in metabolism.
Especially when considering that my hunger signals are impaired due to my brain damage. My interception is about half as sensitive as normal. I don’t really feel stomach hunger until it’s very strong. Lots of times, I can hear the noise before I actually feel it. And I can’t say that I’ve ever identified satiety correctly before.
I didn't know that low-calorie interventions shouldn't be done for months at a time without proper nutritional supervision to prevent deficiencies.
Then I gained 20 pounds in 14 months from October 2022 to December 2023 (93 to 113) after having my previous IUD removed, stopping keto, and hormonal eating patterns once I realized that I had PMDD when my period resumed in July 2023 once I had gained back enough weight.
///
Now, I do my best to meet my keto macros and make sure that I get enough calories every day.
I try not to eat under 1200 kcal and keeping a food log helps keep me accountable that I’m not under-eating due to not feeling hungry. Logging for calorie accountability wasn’t something that I did last time in 2022, because I only cared about carb intake.
Looking back, there were a lot of logs where the daily calorie intake was under 1,000 and that’s not good in the long term. That’s something I’ll have to avoid doing this round. I also keep up with my electrolytes, because being in ketosis is very diuretic and sheds electrolytes quickly due the carb restriction.
However, my current diet is relatively… limited, to put it lightly. I mostly eat heavy cream in coffee, heavy-cream ice cream, full-fat cream cheese, eggs, and some kind of meat every day to meet my protein requirements. And some non-starch veg like spinach, broccoli, sprouts, or cauliflower. This isn’t the previous “beige diet” of my youth, but rather what I call a “heavy cream diet”.
I used to be hypersensitive to flavors and textures when I was younger, for example, I never ate salads before the age of 24, but that switch “flipped” when I started having reactive eating episodes when I was underweight.
I started eating sandwiches, spicy foods, and seafood, all of which were foods that I was previously very avoidant of, to the point of having anxiety attacks when seeing the shells in shellfish.
Those reactive eating episodes really showed the kind of primal need for food that malnutrition does to the brain, because the body needs a lot of calories to gain back weight while underweight.
Now, instead of avoiding fruit/veg and shellfish, I still avoid sweet fruits, starchy veggies, nuts/seeds, peanut butter, and any other kind of carb food.
I avoid eating because the food isn’t enjoyable anymore. Instead of being hypersensitive and anxious, it feels like I’m now hyposensitive and flat, like I just have a general disinterest in food, apart from the usual low appetite. Even when I try to focus, sometimes I can’t mentally “taste” the food or notice the texture.
I can also eat and drink quickly because I can’t feel the food or liquid inside my stomach, which makes pacing difficult.
I’m also currently averse to cold coffee because my mouth just says no to for some reason, which may be because my mom explained that cold coffee is less acidic than hot coffee (she was a barista) and tastes different?
For example, regular applesauce is also not okay, unless it’s a mixed flavor from the baby food section. Regular applesauce has a certain flavor and “grittiness” that turns me off.
However, I will get what I call “vagus hunger” after passing a bowel movement, and I’ll get very hungry. It’s a very distinct feeling, and it’s one of the few times that I can clearly recognize the feeling of hunger.
I eat only one or two “meals” per day, not including the “fat boluses” like cream, oil, or butter that I eat straight or put in my coffee during the day to maintain my ketone levels. The fat helps because I have neurologically delayed bowel motility and I take GI meds to manage this.
By the way, I’m using “avoidant” to describe sensory overstimulation, and “averse” to describe choking/nausea symptoms, as that’s what I was previously taught in speech therapy when I when for a few sessions when I was 24 due to neurological swallowing spasms.
Does this sound like ARFID behaviors? Orthorexia? OSFED? I don’t think OSFED because I don’t fall under any of the specific subtypes (anorexia, bulimia, binge eating, purging). And EDNOS isn’t diagnosed anymore.
Where is the line between an “eating” disorder and a “feeding” disorder, if there is one? I was always told that my circumstances were FD related, not ED related, but no one ever explained the difference to me. Apparently, ARFID isn’t on the ED side, but rather the FD side?
At the mental health practice I’m currently with, the former psychiatrist left, and the practice is still waiting on a new one. But I want to bring this all to the attention of my psychologist, who knows about my longstanding feeding issues, and then the new psychiatrist, whenever they get hired.
Any insight is appreciated, and my chats are open if you don’t want to publicly comment. Thanks in advance!

In this situation, the roles have been reversed in an attempt to get the 33F to see the 36M point of view. This is the text that was sent to the 33F recounting the events from the 36M point of view but again with roles reversed.
I know it’s impossible to see things from a point of view different than you’re own but humor me a little here and let’s take a look at yesterdays events/situation and see how someone in my position may be upset about how the day/night unfolded.
You and I have dated for 3 years. We recently broke up around 3 months ago. You made some mistakes and realized those mistakes and have been trying your best every day since to show me that you can be a better person, that you’re sorry, that you love me, etc… Some days it works, other days it doesn’t. But you don’t give up despite the ups and downs, the challenges, the mixed signals. There’s been times you’ve wanted to give up but there’s just something in you and something you see in me that will not let you do that. So you continue to try and try, explaining every little thing, overexplaining, trying to change my mind of you. Because my mind is made up, I don’t believe anything you say, I don’t trust you, and I believe that your every action is of ill intent and only out to hurt me. Fast forward to yesterday. Things aren’t going great but things aren’t going as bad as they have in the past. We don’t talk much during work but you’ve still texted me multiple times throughout the day but I’ve not read them or responded in quite some time. You walk into my office and I’m looking at my phone and laughing. You immediately get upset because you feel as though I didn’t have enough time to read and respond to your text which would take all of 5 seconds of my time but yet here I am phone in hand, texting other people, and laughing. You call me out on it, I immediately get defensive and angry with you. We text and argue about the situation for the next little bit. You notice that my location has been turned off on Life360. I deny having turned it off and am not sure why that would happen. After work, you come to my house to get a package that has been delivered. My kid asks if you’d like to stay and play. You tell them to ask me and I agree that it’s okay. You play with my kid for a bit until you get tired. During this time, your mom is on one of her text rants and is blowing up your phone. While resting, you look at your phone to see what the fuss is about and to respond in hopes of ending the onslaught of messages. I’m in another part of the house and haven’t really talked to you since you’ve been inside. I walk in and see you on your phone in that one moment and make a snarky remark about how I’m not allowed to be on my phone but here you are at my house on your phone. You try to explain what’s going on, but I’m not hearing any of it. Feeling unwelcome and rather than continue an argument, you decide to leave. We continue to text and you’re trying your best to clear up the situation as usual, over explaining, trying to prove to me that although it does seem a certain way, it wasn’t you’re intentions. Get to a point where you text me a couple of long paragraphs. I read them but don’t respond. You have an awards banquet to go to for your kid. After the banquet you text me some sweet things about how all you know is that you love me, want to be with me, yadda, yadda… no response. You try to break the silence with a suggestion of giving me a massage. I act interested asking if you’re serious. You say yes but I don’t respond. You then ask if that’s a no. I then tell you no, that I have plans with “someone” to eat dinner and discuss a job I’ve been talking to this person about all week. I never mentioned it to you at all throughout the day and coincidentally this person wants to meet exactly at the time you asked me to hangout. Having flown from Washington all the way to shitty little Middlesboro at this exact moment to meet with me about this job. You respond and bite your tongue, wanting to just let it go, and wish me luck. But the coincidences of it all cause you to respond with a smart ass remark. You’ve been turned down so many times before you felt obligated to say something. But then you wish me well and let me know that you have I don’t get raped or murdered. Sort of a joke but also not because it is a possibility. I am meeting a stranger that I’ve only spoken to for 2-3 days that’s coming from another part of the country just to talk to me. But okay whatever. Then I go completely silent. Location is still turned off so you have no idea where I’m going, who I’m with, so your mind starts thinking do the worse things imaginable and doesn’t stop. Each thought getting worse and worse. You continue to text me and I ignore you completely, not even reading your messages. You try to call, but I don’t answer and send you to voicemail. You go home to try and brush it off and just stop worrying. That’s going pretty good. Then your friend Kacy asks what you’re up to and wants to know if you’d like to go have a few drinks. Sure, that sounds great. Will keep you distracted and give you something to do plus you enjoy hanging out with Kacy when you can. You guys meet at Ike’s. As soon as you walk in, you see me and one of the hottest girls on the planet sitting at the bar. Just the two of us having drinks, laughing, talking, etc… You’re stomach knots up and you honestly feel like pumping, walking over and saying something, or just walking away. I’ve continued to ignore you. I’m clearly having a great time with this person and to you and it looks more than just a professional type meeting. He’s in street clothes, you guys are drinking at a bar, there are no sort of documents, folders, etc… that would indicate any type of production or project pitch is taking place. We’re finished here. We get up and we walk right by you. I see you out of the corner of my eye, smirk, and walk on out. We then disappear out of sight briefly before reappearing at my car. You’re closely watching to see if we hug, kiss, shake hands, etc… before going our separate ways. But what’s this?? She gets in my car and we drive off. So you try to text and call me. Ignored. You sit there with Kacy, watching every car pass by wondering where we went, what we were doing, maybe I’m just dropping her off at her car. But I never come back by and you know in order for me to go home, I’d have to drive by. You finish the evening out with Kacy having a couple more drinks until the bar closes and you’re forced to leave. You drive by my house just to see if maybe I was at home and you were just freaking out over nothing. Nope, I’m not home. Again you’re texting me and I will not respond. You drive around for a bit to clear your head, try to pull yourself together, and because you don’t want to go back to your parents and just sit and worry. You continue to text but at this point the messages aren’t going through. You try to call and it goes straight to voicemail. So you’re thinking that I’ve either blocked you or you’re somewhere with no service. But where could that be? It’s after 10pm at this point. Everything is closed on a Tuesday. Especially anywhere that would be proper for a professional job meeting. So your mind goes into overdrive thinking of every scenario in which I’m fucking this girl, I’m being murdered, or drugged, or God knows what. You drive around hoping to see that I’m safe. Eventually you see my car parked at Walmart but we’re not in it. Maybe we’re in Walmart. You go in cause you have to pee anyway and do a lap or two. No sign of us. So now, it’s assumed that I’ve gotten into a car with this person and could be absolutely anywhere at this point. So the anxiety, fear, insecurity kicks it up to overdrive. You’re freaking out. You’re texting me trying to get some sort of reaction, calling on every outlet possible, but no response, no answer, straight to voicemail. You continue to drive around aimlessly just hoping to catch a glimpse of me somewhere so you’ll know I’m safe. You sit at Walmart close to my car to see if I ever come back. The minutes turn into hours and it’s now after midnight. Where could I be with this girl? Definitely a hotel room or parked up somewhere. Has to be. Every attempt at contacting me goes unanswered. Messages have gone through at times so you know I didn’t block you but I must not have good service. Which makes things worse. Have I been kidnapped? Have I been drugged? Have I been left out in the middle of nowhere left for dead? You don’t know so you drive around and drive around and return to my car multiple times. Still there. Still no response. You drive by my house multiple times. Maybe I’ve been dropped off? Nope, nothing. At this point you’re convinced I’m either dead somewhere or I’m 6” deep inside of this girl in her hotel room. You can’t take it anymore and decide to just go home and try to get some sleep hoping that at some point you’ll hear from me. During this ordeal, you come off as a crazy person because of the way you’re acting. You know that you’re ruining every opportunity you might’ve had of ever getting back with me, or forgiving you, or showing me that you can do better. But during that time, you don’t care because all you care about is finding out if most importantly I’m still alive, and secondly if you’ve been lied to, betrayed, and believing that I truly care nothing about you. Begging for some sort of sign, or a stake through the heart, just so you can take your loss, feel the pain, and somehow realize that no matter how bad you want this, no matter how much you love me, and want to be with me, and want to do better for me, that it will never happen and that I’ve officially moved on so now it’s time to lick your wounds and move on as well. But that never came. You’re left in a state of panic with a million different possibilities and unknowns running through your head a million miles an hour realizing that you’re greatest fears are coming forth and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it but continue to drive around, text, and call just hoping that I’ll have a little compassion for you’re wellbeing and give you something to just ease your worries so that maybe you can go home and get some rest.

This is a long story. Sorry in advance.
Here's a little background. I'm 20 Male, and living in the US. I've been in the truth since I could remember. Some of my memories aren't the best. Some are good as well.
I think being a witness is hard especially when we're kids. When I was 7, I wanted a action figure set of ben 10 toys. It was around Christmas time and I had a glimmer of hope for a big Christmas tree with presents. I know it sounds dumb, but I was 7. I had went to the mall and just wanted a Christmas miracle. I woke up on Christmas day and ran downstairs. There was nothing there except a gray light from the windows.
Another time when I was 8 was when I got invited to a birthday party. It was to a trampoline park, and I was excited. I ran home and handed the invitation to my parents. The invite came in a nice goodie bag with sweets. My parents took the bag, threw all the contents inside, ripped the invite up and threw it away too. I got a lecture about birthdays and such. As time grew, my love of birthdays died slowly and painfully. Like someone took my joy and slit its throat, my hope in birthdays and such died a painful death, slowly bleeding out.
When I was at school, parties sucked. I couldn't celebrate birthdays. When my classmates had birthdays, I wasn't allowed to have any of the snacks. I couldn't have cake, brownies, or cookies if it was associated with the birthday. I grew up not being excited for it at all. I felt numb on my last birthday. All I did was drive around aimlessly while doing errands. I think I got a new shirt? But I just stopped loving birthdays. When the class had any holiday party, I wasn't allowed to be there. I was sent away to one of the following places:

1. Hallway
2. School Library
3. Cafeteria
4. Front office

A small consolation was that the librarian would let me play on the computers, but most of the time I did homework early or just read books. I slowly saw more of the world, and it opened my eyes. I think that woke me up was when I was starting middle school. I met people who were LBGTQIA+, and I saw that not all people who weren't witnesse were bad. I questioned it more and more over the years.
When I was in high school, I got in trouble for unkept facial hair every week. I would get scolded every Wednesday and Sunday. When I was a senior, I discovered I am pansexual. I've had it hidden for years now. I'm afraid my parents will kick me out when I tell them I don't want to be a witness anymore. Do you know how bad it has gotten? I have done the following this in secret:

1. Got a new cellphone with my own phone plan and transferred all my stuff over so I won't have to worry when I move out.
   
2. Gotten an apartment that's insured. Paid the deposit and rent no problems.
   

2.B. I got the apartment partially furnished and with utilities on.

1. Looking for a car and insurance so I can fully move out.

Being a witness sucked. I had no life. Endless Saturdays of me preaching stuff. I hated myself for speaking against the LBGTQIA+ community. I spent most of my Saturdays and Sundays in a suit, handing brochures. All I wanted was to make my parents proud, but all I've done is gotten bits of praise with scorn. I'm not a Saint by any means. I've done dumb things, and I can acknowledge that. But to tear the spirits of others...its unforgettable. When I was 19, I was talking to a friend who was a witness. When we talked, she admitted to being sexually assaulted by fellow witnesses. When she tried to tell, it fell on deaf ears.
My advice to all witness kids wanting to leave? Run. Save up and become who you are meant to be. Because if you stay, a apart of you will die, and it's not coming back. I personally saved up money from my job and had decided to move out by summers end. Thank you.

(Probably my last chapter. I'm not yet sure)
Her lily was recovering well, though they had to start wearing their mask again to aid with their breathing. She spent a lot more time in the garden with them, even more than she used to. The two would garden, and she would accept their help controlling her newfound psyker powers. Perhaps it was because it was her lily that was helping her made it more bearable, maybe it was because she knew that this was the only way to prevent her from being a pawn of beings that did not care for her. Regardless of why, she knew it was necessary, and dare she say; nice. It felt nice to be able to rely on someone else. She only hoped that it would last.
She had started to control her psychic powers to some degree, and grown incredibly strong psychically, though that fact often concerned her. She didnt want to lose control and create the same system that she had destroyed on her home world. But gardening helped ease her worries. Spending time with her lily helped ease her worries, calm her spirit. It was nice. Her sons questioned the amount of time she spent away from them, but they also knew not to mess with her. Maybe she would teach them to take care of their own garden, one day.
Unfortunately, that day would not come. As they traveled through the Immaterium, she shot awake from a terrible nightmare, only to see her garden withering and decaying once more, the petals of her flowers falling lifelessly to the floor, and her herbs turning brown and wilting. She saw daemons tearing into her plants and dragging her Lily into the Immaterium through a gap in the gellar field. She had to CALM down. She needed to CONTROL it. Breathe in. BREATHE out. She. had. To. focus. She. had. To. kill. Them. all. She had to save her lily. SHE NEEDED to send those DAEMONS BACK WHERE THEY CAME FROM.
Through cold tears, and a pain that shook her to her core, Morrigan could no longer control her psychic powers. She just couldn’t DO IT ANY longer. The daemons turned to see the Primarch shaking, and a psychic force hit them so hard that they were forced into the warp, without lily. Morrigan rushed to her lily’s side as they lay in the withering garden, torn and dying. She used her psychic powers to try and heal the garden, to heal her lily. But she went too far. The sheer psychic power she wielded, the uncontrolled emotion, the uncontrolled rage and the pain was too much. She found her garden lithe and green once again, and her lily was standing once more before, pale but healthy. But as she wiped the tears from her eyes, she could see that not all was well. Her lily had become part of the garden, they had become one with the plants that they had taken care of for so long. Morrigan broke down. What had she done? WHAT HAD SHE DONE.
She wept and tried her best to ease her mind by gardening, as she had always done since she had met her lily. But this only made things worse. As her tears wet the ground and dirt caked her hands, the psychic energy further transformed the budding seedling that was her lily. The garden began to grow and spread, mutating under the strain of psychic energy. The budding seedling grew at a rampant pace, growing around the body of the former apothecary. When the growth was finished, a tree of enormous stature had grown from the budding seedling, reaching every corner of the room, with lily at the center of its trunk.
Morrigan spent a long-time gardening. She didn't know how long it was, she didn't want to know, she didn't care. She didn't eat, she didn't drink. She hadn't worn her mask or her armor since the incident. All she could focus on was the garden and the tree that was her lily. She pruned the leaves often, doing everything she could to give her lily what she could. She started to talk to her lily as she lay gestating inside the tree. She would talk about her past, talk about what she had wanted to accomplish. She apologized for what she had done, how sorcery was a trap that she had willingly stepped into, how it had cost her lily their freedom. Her lily would always try to console her by raising a flower to her, but Morrigan didn't want to hurt her lily any further and would always refuse.
Even as they exited the warp and returned to Barbarus, the uncontrolled psychic energy continued to affect her garden as it expanded, taking over the ship layer by layer, system by system. Her sons became rooted to their stations as the garden became the ship, as vines bound marines to their posts, trapping others in bulbous flowering pods. The air became thick with a haze not unlike Barbarus, but was filled with sweet smells of flowers, and the sickly smell of flesh consumed by plants. Her sons began to transform, vines began to enter their armor, mushrooms growing from inside them, and flowers budding from their helmets. Organs were held in place by cracking armor and vines, muscles replaced by roots, and all sorts of vegetative replacements. Yet others would be consumed by bulbous pods, their gene-seed being sent through runners, the psychic energy fostering new bulbous pods to grow, gestating new marines.
And at the center of the grand mass of plants and space marines was a huge tree, growing from inside the Primarch’s quarters. Morrigan was a mess. Their clothes had long been tattered, covered in dirt and grime as she wandered the halls in psychic delirium. She seemed to talk to no one, ranting about that she was sorry, that she would fix it. The ship seemed to almost reach out in reply, the plants embracing her as if they were trying to console her. Morrigan accepted their embrace, having long lost any ability to differentiate her lily from the ship-wide garden. She pruned the vines throughout the ship, watering her sons as they still sat rooted to their stations. She made sure to put extra care to the new, small bulbs that held the gestating seeds of her new sons. She would continue this for long stretches of time, talking to the ship as if it were a living thing, pruning painful growth to give some relief to her lily, to the person she cared for but couldn’t quite accept that she loved.
However, her isolation would soon be broken as her sister Alakhai Khan. Having returned from her fight against the Greenskins in the Chondrax system, she had been searching for answers as to what had happened during her absence. Finding no sign of her sister Magnolia, she went searching for her sister Morrigan. Upon her arrival to the outskirts of Barbarus, she could see the hulk of the Endurance in orbit, floating listlessly in space. Sensing something was wrong, she approached the ship, sending a vox to her sister's ship in order to identify the problem. Hearing no answer, she decided to investigate the disturbance in person.
Her stormhawk landed inside the hangar of the Endurance, and immediately she could see something horrible had happened. Every inch of the ship had been claimed by a massive growth of plant life. As Alakhai ventured further into the ship, she decided to investigate some of the plant growth, to see if there were any signs of daemonic corruption. Instead, she was startled as the plant reached out, as if to greet her. Hands made of vines, eyes made of flowers, kept together by Space Marine armor that had been long since neglected. This was one of her sister’s marine’s, consumed by plants but very much alive. As she prepared to end the marine’s suffering, she heard a voice, and a psychic pressure that gave her a splitting headache.
“Sister, please let my sons rest. They need to sleep if they wish to grow and revitalize.”
Alakhai looked towards the origin of the voice, and saw something that resembled her sister, but surely was not. “Morrigan? What has become of you? What has happened to your ship?”
Morrigan smiled, caressing the walls of the ship, running her hands through the petals and flowers. “My lily requires a lot of work to keep healthy. I’m afraid I haven't found time for myself these days.” The ship seemed to groan, almost as if it were talking to Morrigan. The plants reach out, as if to console her, wrapping her in their embrace.
Alakhai now understood. The ship was alive, a living plant that her sister was cultivating. What warp entity had caused such growth and transformation. “Sister, what has done this to you? What warp entity has corrupted your ship?”
Morrigan began to cry, tears streaming down her face, watering the plants at her feet. “I have cursed them sister, and now I must forever make up for my failures.”