Tuesday, 14 August 2012

AUGUST 14, 2012

Log from August 14th:

I march along with my frozen brigade, but beneath the ice hides color of another shade.
On every finger lies a sign of my faith. Devotion like no other, none can replace.
As foreign the idea, I be none other. The first of the Scarlet, and Red is my mother.
For her I shall bleed a mile a day. For her Russ will die, there is no other way.
At last I had seen her, she left me her word. I pass it to you. Through me she is heard.
I leave you with these, with hopes She will see. Unlike no other, this Priestess we need.
On cold winds I fade, I shall find you soon. Thou life is short, you’ll hum to my tune.
Through Fear I may function, but Red is my eye. Hear me now, the Cold Boy’s cry.

August 8:

I tried stabbing myself, out of curiosity. Don’t worry, I’m not depressed, or anything. Literally, I was just…curious.
Apparently, I can’t die. I don’t have blood anymore. Just the Red Cap, oozing around inside of me. That’s when it occurred to me; I don’t have a heartbeat.
So, what am I? A shell? Like a fucking Dying Man shard?

August 9:

There comes a point where it’s just better to be me all the time. It was starting to feel like some kind of split-personality psycho-state. The kind that makes for great television.
It’s better for everyone if I stop being dormant and just come out and play all the time.
Jack noticed. Poor little guy seems a bit put off by me, now, but we still have fun. I don’t think he ultimately cares, so long as I let the Black Dog hang around and read him the occasional bedtime story. Oh, and give him some say in the murders.
We had a lot of fun with some Nameless. A lot of fun.

August 12:

Jack isn’t on my side anymore.
He threw a bit of a tantrum when we encountered a couple of Children of the Cold – ones I recognized, incidentally. Pretty sure I saw them in a library, once, or something. The brats might have been following me.
Once their heads were a good few feet away from their bodies, he got cranky. He isn’t going to be lending a helping hand anymore, apparently. He scampered off, and now…I’m stuck on my own.
Well, I use ‘on my own’ loosely. Currently lying next to a Scarlet-marked who’s still passed out after round three. I’m writing this particular log on a bedside table in permanent marker. You know, just as a token of my love.
Either way, things can only get more interesting from this point on. I don’t know if this means Jack is now my enemy…but I’m not stupid.
I’ve made an enemy of the Cold Boy.
Eh, fuck it, we were already enemies. I stole this body before he could numb it…just like I stole it before Slender Man could properly get his stalk on. And from Sir-grins-a-lot before he could start doling out the flowers. Before the Mother of All could ‘gift’ her with fangs and scales.
Poor, precious little magnet just never stood a chance, huh? Good thing my last main Vessel was a total pedo.
…Also, maybe I’m using the term ‘enemy’ a little too loosely. Given the situation.
Here comes the crazy laughter again, and man, does it feel good.

P.S. Next orgy is on the last of the 31st. Worry not, my siblings, for I shall gather.

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