hello, little one. are you lost?
um, wtf.I'm writing this down before the picture fades. as you were, ladies and gentlemen.D.Gray-Man, untitledThe demon stalked the rain-slick city streets, searching. It knew not where it was, or what it was doing there, or why, but none of these things really mattered, except that it was here, and it was starving. Never had it known such hunger. It was a primal urge, the sort of constant, burning ache that cannot be questioned or contemplated, only satiated, with the savage speed of an hunting predator. This hunger, this desire to feed, to glut, to gorge to grow was the sole mentality that the creature possessed, consuming its machinated mind utterly. It lived for this purpose and for this purpose alone. The killing device. The weapon. Akuma. All it knew was the need to evolve. The corpse that housed the lethal machine was beginning to rot, slowly, but the creature somehow knew that it only had so long before the decaying shell would be useless. The bodys mobility had already lessened, the limbs stiff and jerky with rigor mortis, causing the akuma to lurch drunkenly as it continued on its deliberate path down to the sleazy, darker underbelly of the metropolis. The dim glow from the yellow lanterns suspended above windows and beside doors cast long dancing shadows on those crowded below, lending an oddly furtive quality to any movement, faces glancing up hurriedly becoming distorted and grotesque, their expressions made sinister by the trembling light. A vague, lingering sense of uneasiness pervaded the air, just tangible enough that it rippled gently up the spine and prickled at the base of the neck, a persistant, nagging sensation of disquiet, of discord. Of despair.neener, neener.inspiration is a fickle, fleeting child.if it's poked, maybe its interest in me will rekindle.lololol.it's reeeeallly late.