"M'sieur, can you help me?"croaked Claquesous, clasping his hands tight to his abdomen. "I've been... attacked." The masked man was paling, and his hands were trembling too much to stitch himself, but he wasn't stupid enough to go to a hospital. (themaskedventriloquist maybe if you want)
Combeferre was taken aback as the man staggered into the Musain, he was masked - paling by the second, he was unsure for a moment or two - the man was masked and likely for some reason. Yet, Combeferre knew it was not his place to decide the fate of the stranger, the man was waning, and he had the skill to stop it, to save him from what would likely be a long agonizing death. He stood, hurrying to help the man inside. “I-.. I can help.. just.. sit. Yes, sit down here— I’ll get some water and linen to clean it—-“
“Night flight to San Francisco; chase the moon across America. God, it’s been years since I was on a plane. When we hit 35,000 feet we’ll have reached the tropopause, the great belt of calm air, as close as I’ll ever get to the ozone. I dreamed we were there. The plane leapt the tropopause, the safe air, and attained the outer rim, the ozone, which was ragged and torn, patches of it threadbare as old cheesecloth, and that was frightening. But I saw something that only I could see because of my astonishing ability to see such things: Souls were rising, from the earth far below, souls of the dead, of people who had perished, from famine, from war, from the plague, and they floated up, like skydivers in reverse, limbs all akimbo, wheeling and spinning. And the souls of these departed joined hands, clasped ankles, and formed a web, a great net of souls, and the souls were three-atom oxygen molecules of the stuff of ozone, and the outer rim absorbed them and was repaired. Nothing’s lost forever. In this world, there’s a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we’ve left behind, and dreaming ahead. At least I think that’s so.”
Samedi had to be honest with herself, she didn’t know how it happened.
It all started when she recently bought the angelic mirror. Setting it in her room, she stared at it. She was wondering what she could change about herself, not she hated her body, she was simply curious,
Suddenly, goddess knows what, something disturbed the mirror and Samedi was blinded by light emitting from the reflective glass. she shielded her eyes with her arms but it didn’t help.
When the light died down and Samedi finally got her eyesight back, she stared into the mirror and let out a shocked scream.
She was completely different, from her hair to her skin, even her height! She was much more shorter now. slightly lifting her finger to her face, she called out on herself.
She quickly clasped her hands on her mouth. My voice too!? She tried to check if she could change herself but no results. She whined in distress, knowing there was no other options. She didn’t even have the dosh to get her look back. To be honest, she still wonders how does that beautician changed the whole appearance.
Not knowing what else to do, she went to do her daily things while trying to find a solution. Goddess, people won’t even recognize me either!
the thing about the ultimate cosmic meaninglessness of man is that you can either wallow in your insignificance and the attendant pain that brings in a culture so obsessed with fame and being important,
or you can fall in love with literally everything and everyone in a dozen small ways because everything still exists despite the statistical unlikelihood of it all and that’s a goddamn miracle