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For 00zingTea even moving her fingers was becoming a struggle, but she forced her grip to tighten as her brass knuckled lit up and appeared in her palms. She knew she had to get in at least one hit, to add something to the fight. She put her all into it and trudged forward, moving as if she were walking against a heavy current. Finally she mustered enough strength to push one fist forward and then the next. These were her memories!!

Was it really so bad that his memory was watching the television and being proud as a child to see something his father had been working to pass HAD in fact been passed was the one that fluttered through his head? The beaming smile of pride as he watched the success his dad had worked so hard to accomplish.

Really, it was something so simple. But perhaps it was a bit like the idolizing most children did of their parents. That they were super dad, defender of justice and good. It was before he understood the world so much better. Still, he'd been so happy and even asked to help make something to congratulate him when he got home.

Perhaps having a scareling in the kitchen had not been so helpful though...

He;d done it! They all had. Destruction had been brought to her knees. His deepest fears of her were quelled, and for a moment, it seemed that there was nothing to worry about. A grave mistake. There was still the White Queen. He knew nothing about her. Not a thing. Other than her own words.

No matter. She too would be stopped. The world depended on it. So did he. He'd set the balance right. He'd make everything right. The presence of others was something foreign now. He felt as if he was the only person in the world. A lonely feeling. He knew better. He knew it wasn't him saving the world. It was the effort of more people than he could count. No one wanted these so called Queens to wreak havoc.

However, as the world went black, so did his confidence and resolve. Despite his deeply rooted fear of the dark, that wasn't what made him slip. He felt despair. No matter how hard he worked to save the world, no matter how much he tried to be important or useful? It always backfired. It would backfire, it would get harder rather than easier. After one enemy went down, something would arise to take it's place. What power did he have to stop such a thing? Was he fighting against fate itself? Was it pointless to try?

After all, Death followed him everywhere. It was intangible, yet held onto his life so tightly and cruel. His grandfather, Clerise, Sam.

And soon his girlfriend, Nevada.

It was sudden like a bullet, a flash of pain soon after. He could see it before his eyes. The memory of when Nevada first told him she would soon die. He'd not believed her for a while, only felt worry and pity for her. Surely she'd just been scared from losing her weapon. But then she began to decline in health. He watched as she grew thinner in body, and weaker of sanity. He was losing her.

And there was probably nothing he could do. Her life dangled before him, always out of reach. He'd become attached, and for that, she needed to be taken away.

…she really hated when her pet catcorn pulled the old puppy eyes trick on her – especially since it wasn't even part dog. It was a warm afternoon and she was trying to help the cat/unicorn mini lose some weight because it completely refused to do anything but sleep and eat, but that was made difficult when it wouldn't stop begging for snacks. She reached for the box and tossed the catcorn some treats while sighing.

He is in his father's foyer. He is young, and skinny, and smooth-faced, and relieved to be alive.

His friends are back in the fire. They will probably die. He knows this. He almost laughs. He's made it. That's the really important thing.

"I'm so hungry," comes his father's voice from down the hall. The foyer is clean and empty. There are no servants. None of his father's various spouses. None of his uncountable brothers and sisters.

"I never could stop at just one. But we all have our sins."

Barth slinks towards the very tall door, the main door, the way out, and finds it locked. He rattles the handle. It depicts bodies and bodies and bodies being fed to a demon who eats them forever. He would rather be in the fire.

"And I'm still so very hungry."

Although he had been of little help, the Red Queen eventually fell, crumbling in on herself and leaving nothing but darkness behind. His cards had disappeared completely; all he held now was a lantern that burned so brightly he had to squint, even when he hid it behind his back. Despite its powerful light, the illumination it provided dropped off after a radius of about two feet, so he was essentially just blinding himself continuously and uncontrollably.

He needed to get out of here.

Big tried to call a card. Instead, he stirred up a fragment of his past.

For the first five years of his life, Brenley had believed he was actually a gryphon stuck in a reaper's body. He might not have been so secretly adamant about it had his father not been the coolest monster he had ever known. It was easy to feel that way about him when he wasn't a part of the day-to-day, when his appearances were accompanied by presents and cake and his mother's smile. He clung to every sentence dad uttered as if his life depended on it, and simple scoldings left him silently devastated, determined to patch a rift that existed only in his mind.

Over time, Bren had grown to understand that fickle, changeable people didn't make the best rocks, but there was no one else in the running for Responsible Adult. He knew, deep down, that his father's behavior was his excuse for why he hadn't yet done anything of note, why his experiments were never finished. It frightened him. It excited him.

She regretted heading into town on Scarentines Day. Everywhere, there were ghouls and boils flirting and kissing and holding hands. She couldn't imagine being that close to someone in terms of physical proximity and relation. She continued down the street, and she found all sorts of Scarentines-related items for sale. “Just get what you need and leave as soon as possible.”, she kept telling herself.

For a race known for it's obsession, it's NEED for physical objects... temptation wasn't far behind. He'd admit it. He needed them. He'd be rather panicked, lost, and... well quite cross without them. It was a need as solid as any other for him to possess bells. Everyone had something. He just liked them.

So why was it so odd to think that perhaps, maybe once, hearing no wasn't acceptable? Hearing that such an exquisite thing should rot where no one could see it was alright? Perhaps it was wrong to see to it that a proper case was made to ensure it ended up in his hands(legally of course, tsk tsk no stealing). But it still left the previous owner a bit upset.

But really. He shouldn't have let the thing grow to such a state. Why become possessive when someone comments on the craftsmanship when you never truly appreciated it before? For shame... perhaps for the both of them.