[backdated to day 74, late in the day, somewhere on level 2]

[prettygirlsmakegraves]

She doesn't know anything about me.

[the words, uttered with a soft hiss into the dark, aren't meant for anyone's ears but their speaker's for all that she's clearly addressing someone; it's simply a matter of speaking them aloud. she wants to remember she said it. that way maybe some of the tension in her eyes will lessen, the backed-up, cornered feeling will die. she takes a breath. she breathes out. and she walks a little ways back into the dark, just out of sight, ears open. her head tilts to the side, so her good ear faces out.]

[down at her side, her left hand unfurls, a bright flower of imminent violence.]

[she knows she saw someone head in this direction; she didn't see where they went. something keeps knocking into some of these bookcases, moving them around, closing out paths and making new ones. there's no pattern to it; it makes it hard to keep a clear path in her head.]

[... it makes her wonder what could be doing it, too.]

[but she really doesn't want to think about that right now. she wants - she needs to be thinking about a little killing.]

[whoever it was looked like they were wearing Iris.]

Comments

[unexpressive]

[ despite the clock's state, rena doesn't stop her habit of hunting at this hour—rather, it's even more important that she does go out to hunt now. rations run out eventually, and there's little assurance on the clock's speedy revival. the quests are important, but right now it's a matter of who gets the good food first.

she has a few headless hales in hand, as she steps further into the darkness—she's no longer fearful of the creatures on this level, now that she's developed a set pattern and habit. still, she's a bit careless and certainly isn't aware of her stalker; there's hardly been any incident since she's started hunting daily, and surely, there wouldn't be one now... ]