Run Away

[Personalias]

A message from Personalias:  

Dear Patrons,

 I know you signed up for this Patreon in order to get some exclusive and original Personalias ABDL stories. The problem is that I’m exhausted. With the search for a new job and trying to meet deadlines, I’ve hit a serious case of writer’s block.  But, with permission, I have a story from a secondary source and they’ve allowed me to share it with you at their own expense.   

This didn’t originally have a title, as the author prefers not to use titles in their work, but I have chosen to tentatively name it:

Run Away 

My name is Alice.  I can’t promise you that that is my real name, my True Name, but it’s what you can call me.  I also can’t tell you much else about my particulars.  I can’t tell you where I live, or where I was born, or how old I am.  I can’t tell you if I have any brothers or sisters or if I’m an only child.  Just skip all the icebreakers.  Skip all of it.

I can’t even tell you my last name.

Because if I did, They might find me.  They might find me and drag me back, clicking their tongues and shaking their heads as I screamed and did everything I could to kill myself before we got There.   

And I’d never, ever, be free again.

If you’re reading this, you’re in danger.  

No, it’s not a curse.  

You’re in danger even if you’re not reading this.  

Every person who isn’t locked safely behind iron bars, or with an offering of milk and bread by their bed is in danger and they don’t even know it.

But now you do.  

Or you will.

Humans aren’t alone on this earth.  No, we’re not being invaded.  They’re already here.  They’ve been here for as long as we have as far as I can tell.  At least long enough that it doesn’t really matter how long.  

And They’re not from outer space, but They’re every bit as dangerous, every bit as alien as little green men from Mars.  And They don’t live here, but They come here often enough, paying Their little visits.  It’s just that every time They visit, They take someone back with Them as a souvenir.

Where are They from then?  Where do They go?  How can They be from here and not from here?  How can They visit and still be among us?  How can They be alien and not from outer space?

They live just outside the Real, on the edge of our vision, the place we go to when we sleep.

They are gods and monsters.   

They are beautiful and twisted reflections of the mundane.

They are the kindly ones and fair folk.

They are the Fay.

Every fairy tale you ever read as a kid? Completely true.  Completely wrong, but still true.  The particulars have gotten fucked up beyond all reason (and They like it that way), but the grand scope of what They are capable of is spot on.

Among the Fay, there are wolves that can swallow you whole.  You can die and be brought back by a kiss.   Beanstalks lead to castles in the clouds and you can fly if you’re happy enough.

And by the time you get out, if you get out, our own predictable little world with its 24/7 media blitz, and natural disasters, and plane crashes, and suicides and murders all broadcast live on Facebook?  It all seems so quaint.  So quiet. So dull.

Peaceful.   

I’ve been back for about a year.  I don’t remember how I escaped. Not yet. That’s another thing.  My memory has become all swiss-cheesy since I came back.  Sometimes I can’t remember anything at all and It all fades away like some kind of fucked up dream.  

Maybe I was never taken. 

 Other days I get flashbacks so intense that I wonder if I ever really got away.  Maybe I’ll get done typing this all out and then a pair of ivy green hands, Her hands, will cover my eyes, whispering gibberish and telling me what a silly little girl I am.
(please no…)

That’s one of the reasons I’ve decided to write this all down. To keep track of the memories as they come back to me.  To piece together the events.  To tell my story. To make the nightmares that still haunt me go away by putting them on a computer screen.   

And to let people know.  To warn them.  To warn you.

Why am I writing this down, you ask?  If I have proof, why don’t I just go show someone the proof or find someone who will believe me?

I’ve tried.  It didn’t work.  No one believes me.

Everytime I tell somebody and start to explain, their eyes start to glaze over. Mundane people smile and nod as I tell them all the shit I’ve been through, but that’s it.  Smiling and nodding. Just smiling and nodding.  In one ear and out the other like I’m speaking in tongues or babbling like a mad person (or a baby).  Best case scenario? I get a “That’s nice dear” or a “How creative!”  

I’ve even tried lifting my hair back and showing them my ears, and all I’ve ever gotten was a “How cute” and a “cootchie-cootchie-coo.”

Last month I tried my luck with a tabloid “reporter.”  When I was done he blinked and looked around, asking me where my parents were. I snatched his laptop and all he’d had typed down was “Once Upon A Time” over and over again.

So this?  This is my last resort.  Whatever weird shit followed me back only seems to work in person.  I type things out, and at the very least people register what was written and don’t go braindead on me.

I’m not crazy. 

 Or if I am, that doesn’t make my story any less true.  

Believe me. 

 Please.

Here goes nothing.

Gods I hope this works.

I don’t believe in repressed memories.  At least not in the bullshit way that always shows up on movies and T.V.  I don’t think I’m ever going to to sit on a couch, look at a swinging watch and then suddenly remember all this bullshit that happened to me.  I don’t think my mind just lost time and I made myself forget to cover up all the trauma I’ve been through. 

Last year I woke up in an alleyway, in the rain, covered in shit and piss.  I was wearing a raggedy smock that was supposed to be a dress, baby booties, and bonnet. The dress used to be pink.  My ass was hanging out in the wind.  I was in a strange city that I’d never been to in my life and I was clutching a broken and battered silk top hat. I was cold and hot at the same time.  Teeth chattering and burning up. 

If some stranger hadn’t found me after the big ball came down, I would have died.

 You think I wouldn’t forget that if I could?  Don’t you think I’d want to just wake up in the pysch ward of the hospital, wondering why I’d lost close to five years of my life?

That’d be a lot easier than the shards of what I’ve got.  Amnesia is better than hallucinations.  Repressed memories means I could get on with my life.  I could buy that I’m just some Jane Doe that had a mental breakdown. 

 I could make-believe that I’m sick.  I could pretend that my life wasn’t stolen from me.  I might even have a shot at being happy.

But I’m not.  And everytime I look in the mirror, I see the evidence plain as day.  

And way way too often I see people that got left behind when I close my eyes.  People that I knew.  People that helped me survive.  

People that meant something to me.

So no, I don’t believe in “repressed memories.”  It’s bullshit.

But I do believe in shock and trauma.  I do believe that it’s possible for someone to get so unbelievably fucked up that their brain glitches and shit gets filed away in the wrong cabinet.

 I believe in gaslighting.  I believe it’s possible for someone to intentionally lie to you, or drug you, or otherwise fuck your brain up to the point where what you’re experiencing isn’t what really happened.

I also believe that magic can make you forget.  I believe that I was made to forget something.  They don’t want me warning you.  They don’t want me exposing Them.  She doesn’t want me to tell you Her secrets.

Fuck Her.

Fuck all of Them.

I don’t remember how I was taken.  I just know I was.  No one goes There by accident.  No one I’ve met, anyways.  Their gates are too guarded. Their stronghold’s too secure.  They can peel back the curtain of the Real, but it wafts only for Them.

  I can’t say that They don’t like uninvited playthings.  

 They just don’t get uninvited playthings.

All are welcome to the Fay.

Either that or only the welcome ones ever make it to There.  I’m not sure and I don’t want to know.   

What I do know is that spiders creep me out and they didn’t use to.  What I do know is that I didn’t go There willingly.  I’m sure of it.  They might have taken me in my sleep or come into my house and yanked me out of my bed before I drifted off.  I might have gotten snatched off the streets.  I might have wandered into a dark corner of the wrong damn house on the wrong damn night.

When I close my eyes and dream, I remember stories of all four.  Not to me, though.  To others like me.

That’s the other thing.  I was taken.  But I was very rarely ever alone.beyond the real

I don’t remember how I got There, to the Land Beyond the Real; I just remember waking up already there. I coughed myself awake, feeling like my lungs were full of cotton candy.  My breath had this sickly sweet sugary taste to it that itched at my tongue and hurt the back of my teeth, like every breath drilled into some cavity that I hadn’t known I had before. 

Breathing through my nose wasn’t an option.  Mouth was bad, but nose was worse. Something inside me tickled at my nostrils every time I tried.  Inhale? Exhale? It didn’t matter.  Everytime I breathed in, I’d feel that tickle rush up my nose and jolt to the back of my skull so that the exhale came out as this stuttering whispering laugh.  When I breathed out, it still tickled.  My laughter just came out in shorter raspier gasps so that I had to inhale the cotton air through my mouth if I wanted anything at all. 

I laughed and it hurt. That’s how I knew I wasn’t dead.

I opened my eyes and had squint them shut again.  So bright, like staring into the sun! On reflex I tried to shield my vision, rub my eyes, but I couldn’t move my arms.  They were pinned against my side.  My legs kicked but barely moved an inch.  Whatever my arms were wrapped up in was also encasing them.   

My head was a lead weight, unable to move. It felt like I was in a whole-body straight jacket.  If it wasn’t for my face, I would have thought I was mummified.

And all around me was a field of white.  Bright white lights in a bright white ceiling.  At the edge of my vision were walls and a rim that I couldn’t quite see over.  Trapped in an alabaster coffin.

It wasn’t just that I was tied up in something that made it hard to move.  I hurt from more than the tickling candy air.  I was in pain; an aching tired pain.  Imagine doing the Iditarod, but you were the dog. You were the only dog, the musher was Jabba the Hutt, and Jabba saw no reason not to use a whip to speed you along.  It was a little like that. 

Skin screamed.  Muscles cried. Even the light had a kind of weight pressing down on me. Crushing me. And it was all weight, but no heat.  Even wrapped up, I felt a shiver down to the marrow.   Just then, existing hurt so much that I almost wished that the lid on my mummy case would have slammed shut.  Sometimes, I still wish that.

I cried out for help.  I screamed.  Not even words, I just wailed, hoping someone would hear me. Rescue me.  The air and the light worked against me.  Muffled my screams so that even as my throat rattled, barely a whisper came out.

It was barely a whisper, but for some reason I heard an echo. A rasping whispy sound. 

 I screamed again.  

And again. 

And again.

The echoes sounded off.

Again.

And again.

And again.

No one came.  No one was coming.  I was going to die here.  Out of breath, I stopped screaming.  

But the echoes kept going on.

Then words.  “Heeeeeeeeeeelp!” It was hard to hear, but I did.  “Heeeeeeeeelp meeeeee!”

That was when I realized I wasn’t alone.  Those weren’t echoes I was hearing.  Those were other people.  “I” was “we.”

And “we” were not alone.

A shadow passed above me on the ceiling, the first bit of not-white that I’d witnessed since I’d woken up.  It was shaped like a person, like a man, but right away I knew something was wrong about it.  

The butt was too big and it didn’t glide as much as it crawled, like literally crawled on its hands and knees.  Oh yeah, and there wasn’t a person attached to it.  I guess I should’ve opened with that.

The shadow stopped on the spot directly above me, blocking out a bit of light, and looked at me.  Tiny pin pricks of light made up its eyes, and a bright gap made up its smiling mouth.  It crawled to just above my head and did its level best to point at me.

I heard a voice.  Not a raspy rattling cry.  A voice.  “Look what I found, Mommy!” Two hands grasped the edge of my container.  A head joined them.  I was looking at a man.  Or a boy.  It was hard to tell.  He had a mess of curly light brown hair, the color of dying autumn leaves. More than just the color of leaves, there were actual leaves in his hair!  

His face was smooth and childish.  He could have been barely eighteen, or he could have been close to forty.  The kind of face that gets carded long after twenty-one.  It was that hard to tell. A real case of “babyface”.

  His eyes matched his hair, and when I looked into them I saw a kind of sadness that didn’t match the silly grin.  Thinking back on it, it reminds me of a doctor who has to give the awkward news that has to explain that the surgery didn’t go as planned.  Sorry for your loss.  Maybe I’m just projecting.

The boy wasn’t alone.  Standing over him, over both of us, was an alien.  That was my first guess, anyway.  I wasn’t dead, I’d been abducted by aliens, and now  I was in shipping containers and was about to get probed and dissected.  

If you’d been there, you wouldn’t have laughed. How many green people do you know?  Ivy green.  Emerald green.  Hulk green.  With yellow slitted eyes, like cats’ eyes, just to add an extra level of inhuman.   Her arms were a little too skinny. Her breasts were a little too big.  Her hair a little too stiff and her nose a little too small. Nothing too off-putting, just a little too...everything.  Uncanny valley stuff.  Barbie ratios. 

Another scream got ready to rattle up in my throat, but it stopped short when she opened her mouth. 

I’ll never forget that fucking voice.  “Yes, darling.  It’s a baby.”  The voice was perfect.  Disney Princess Perfect.  Heroin for my ears.  It was sweet and loving and sincere and meant everything to me just then.

“Mother” is the name of God on the lips and hearts of children.  Just then, I was a child.  Hearing Her speak, I knew.  She was Mother. She was God.  Her dress seemed to be made of leaves, only each leaf was made of sparkling emeralds. Each row layered onto the next like feathers. 

This was a Mother.  This was God.  

“Like me?” The boy with leaves in his hair asked.

She laughed. Her laughter was a song.  “Oh no, silly boy.  You’re a baby boy.  This is a baby girl.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, sweet boy.”  I smiled.  I couldn’t help it.

“Can I see her?”

The Green Lady popped out of sight, just long enough to bend over and pick up the man who’d called her “Mommy.”  He was wearing green too, but it was a darker green.  Forest Green.  Camouflage green.  Old pea soup green.  His shirt wrapped around between his legs like a kind of unitard.

I saw his hairless thighs wrapped around Her waist and his shoeless feet crisscrossing over each other.

Cute.

I barely noticed the slight bulge around his crotch and ass, or that there were crinkled frills in the leg holes of his underwear poking out from the unitard.  I noticed, but I barely noticed.  And I didn’t connect the dots.

Even with Her calling him “baby boy,” I didn’t think “onesie” and “diaper.”  If you hear hoofbeats in Central Park, you don’t expect zebras.  

It might have been that the proportions were off too.  Everything still hurt, but I could still see well enough.  Baby or not, he was about the same size as me.  He was riding on Her hip, but he wasn’t that much smaller than Her. So yeah.  Unitard and puffy underwear.  Not onesie and diaper.

“She’th pretty,” he said.  “Can we keep her?”

I remember how her mouth twitched to the side looking down at me.  “I don’t know,” she said.   “I think you might be too little to have a baby sister.  What if we left her-?”

“But if we leave her here, she’ll Doll!”  His spine was straight.  Real panic was in his voice.  “Don’t let her Doll, Mommy!”

“That’s a good idea!”  Even with them talking over me, the most I could manage was a quiet giggle-scream from my box.  According to my body, everything hurt.  According to the air and the sound of Her voice, everything tickled and was good.  My overwhelmed brain and body compromised and met somewhere in the middle.  “We can let her Doll, and then you can practice with her.  Then, when you’re ready, we’ll get you a Real baby sister.”

“But I don’t want a Real baby thithter later!”  His voice was shaky. A toddler on the verge of a tantrum.  “I want her now!”

More musical laughter.  Condescending, knowing, demeaning laughter.  Laughter that I’d get used to in time.  “I don’t know...”  Her teeth were perfectly white in that teasing smile looking down at me, her cats’ eyes sparkling like the leaves on her dress, winking.

He relaxed. He knew it was a game too.  He nuzzled into her neck, buried his head into her shoulder.   “Pleeeeeeeeeathe!”  That’s how my fate was sealed.

“Well….all right,” she said.  “But Mommy has to put you down for a minute.”

The boy went away, but only for a second.  His hands grasped the edge of my box and pulled his face back up to meet me.  

“Hi,” he whispered to me.  

“You’re welcome,” he said.  

But, again in a whisper, he added, “I’m sorry.”

The Green Lady bent over and scooped her arms under me.   She really wasn’t much bigger than me, but She was so much stronger. One arm under my legs, the other under my shoulders, She cradled me up and out of my container. 

Easy.

For the first time since I woke up, I was out of the box.  For the first time, I got the slightest hint of the world I was in.  Other Women, purple, and yellow, and grey, stood over Their own boxes.  They had fins for hair, or scaly skin, or cat tails that swished behind Them.

And every one of Them was holding something.  Cradling someone. I only saw them for a few seconds, but I saw them.  It didn’t take much for me to figure out what I looked like, too. 

We were all the same.  We had been in cots.  We were swaddled in white spider-web thick sheets. And we were being coddled, cuddled, and cradled by these Women-who-weren’t.

The Green Lady twisted me and turned me as easily as if I were a carnival teddy.  I might have been clumsy to hold, but I wasn’t heavy to Her.  The sparkling leaves of Her dress parted on their own as I was turned.  No hands required.

 In front of me now was an emerald green breast, a slightly darker green nipple poking out. It came in closer as She forced my face into Her disproportionate chest.  

Even an idiot could tell what she wanted, but something told me not to give in and I managed to twist my head an inch or two to the side, feeling Her tit brush against the edge of my cheek.  

Survival instinct? Death wish?  I don’t know.  Something inside me screamed “This is wrong” and for a little while, I listened.  She cooed to me, encouraging me without words. Jiggled me.  Jostled me. Made slurping noises for me to imitate.  

“Don’t go Doll.”  I heard a voice say.  The boy’s.  “Don’t go Doll.” Around me I heard soft moans. Other prisoners were already partaking.  “Please!”  A single drop of yellowish white liquid dripped out from Her nipple. Even through the cotton candy air I could almost taste it.

But I was stubborn.  I closed my mouth, damned the pain, and held my breath.  Another brush against my face.  I could feel the stuff on my cheek.  Instant heat.  Instant strength absorbing through my skin.  My whole body tensed.  

Biceps flexed. 

Teeth gritted.

Knees locked.  

Locked, but didn’t touch. 
Something was keeping them apart.  

My lungs gave up before my will did and I inhaled through my nose, again damning the pain.  I smelled it.  Smelled the milk.  Smelled Her milk.  

Shark.

Blood.

Water.

Mouth open, I latched on and began.  Every need, every desire I’d ever felt or imagined filled me with that sniff.  I was hungry and thirsty and cold and hot and jonesing for a fix and bored and tired and scared and lonely and...horny. Gods, was I horny!

 And the cure for all of it was in my mouth.

Life.  

Life filled me up.  The cold of the air went away as I sucked on the Green Lady’s tit.  My skin was glowing.  Buzzing.  The aches in my body went away.  Not ceasing to exist or becoming numb, like with aspirin. It was more like an internal massage, with tiny hands beating the pain out of me with every gulp. The thick, grainy smell of the air cleared away and only the scents of flesh and milk- life- was left.

Then there was the taste.

What was it like?

Imagine.

Imagine the best food you’ve ever tasted.  The five hundred dollar japanese wagu beef with a side order of lobster.  World class sushi and chocolate truffles fit for a queen.   

Now imagine your favorite guilty pleasure comfort food.  The greasy cheeseburger from that one restaurant that you swear you never eat at.  The frozen grocery store microwave mac and cheese that you love to eat when you’re sick, or just feeling insecure

Combine all of that with the feeling of being just the right amount of drunk and magically knowing that you’re not going to be hungover in the morning AND the feeling of self-righteous smugness when you decide to be “good” so you order a salad for dinner AND the feeling of treating yourself to chocolate cheesecake because you’ve been “so good” AND somehow knowing that you’re not going to gain a pound from any of it.

It’s like that. But better.

Never wanting to be full again.  Wanting to be filled.  Afraid I’d never ever be full.  Time stopped.
I forgot everything in that moment.  There was no more “Alice.”  No more “I.”  No more anything but want and desire and body heat beating of my heart trying to sync with Hers.

It wasn’t until I was nearing climax that “I” even thought of myself as “I.”  Just the tingling teasing and pressure building needing to be filled, teasing-taunting-touching me.

And then I screamed as my panties flooded and everything inside me buzzed.

  “MOMMY!”

I was having the most intense orgasm that I’d ever had in my life.  My eyes rolled back in my head.  I was cumming in my pants.  Strength filled me and I bucked in Her arms, trying to hump the air itself as I was wracked.  

I was screaming.  It wasn’t the same breathy gasping scream that I’d barely managed before.  I was shouting my lungs out.  I’d never screamed this loud during an orgasm before.  I’d never even screamed this loud when I was faking it.

  Her milk...Her milk had given me strength...given me life.  Given me the most intense sexual experience that I’d ever had in my entire adult life.   I was cumming and screaming into this Woman’s...Mommy’s tit, and I didn’t care.  I just kept suckling and suckling and suckling, trying to drain her dry.  

I bit into Her. Tried to draw more of Her into me. 

Eating and still hungering. 

Cumming and still wanting more.

I didn’t care or notice that no matter how turned on I was, it wasn’t enough. I didn’t care that the moisture between my legs was being wicked away even as my body slickened itself.

I didn’t care that as I bit down into Her, no blood rushed into my mouth.  I didn’t care that I could feel my teeth sinking further and further back into my gums with every bite and every gulp.  I didn’t care that I was unteething.  

(Gods, that seems even weirder in print.)

The Green Lady was Mommy.  Mommy was God.  This was Holy Communion.  Sweeter than any wine shed for me. More nourishing than any bread broken for my sins.  Her Milk filled me up more than anything ever had before.

And it wasn’t enough.

I wasn’t the only one going through this.  It was an orgy of sorts.  All of us, swaddled and nursing. Screaming and cumming right there on the spot in the arms of monsters.  None of us caring.  None of us thinking about the other or caring about the other’s existence. 

 I wasn’t, anyway.  

We were all too busy filling up on Life Itself.  Bucking and squirming and trying to find any position where we could dry hump the air or rub up against the Women holding us, just to get that little extra bit of release.

Then something else felt full.  My bladder.  

No hesitation.  I let go, feeling the warmth flood my pants.  Beyond  reason.  Beyond caring.  It didn’t feel good to hold it in.  And I wanted to feel good. 

The warmth.  

The warmth felt good.

  I waited to feel the piss trickle onto my thigh and drip down my leg into the rest of the spider-web wrapping.  The warm dampness spread out, creeping along my ass before splashing back towards my front. My pee soaked all into my pants, but never went further.  Just like with my orgasm,  the intense sensation of wetness lasted only as long as my stream did.  

It got soaked up, my panties started swelling like a sponge.  

That’s when it clicked. I hadn’t cum in my pants.  I hadn’t pissed my pants.  

Because technically, I wasn’t wearing pants.  No panties, either.

I felt Mommy’s hand patting my bum, giving it gentle but firm swats.  Just firm enough so that I could feel it.  Just hard enough so that I could hear the dull padded thud.  I squirmed a bit, trying (and failing) to press my legs together though the bulky padding wrapped around my ass..  

I could barely hear the crinkle.  But I heard it.  “Good girl,” She said.  “Good baby.” Gods damnit.  I couldn’t stop smiling.   The last bits of ecstasy started to fade, as the wet sopping mess clung to me; starting to cool.  Starting to squish.

The room went upright as the Green Lady turned me vertical.  Heavy thuds on my back.  War drums.  I shook.  “Come on,” Mommy coaxed me.  “Give Mommy Dearest a burp.”

I belched.  Like I was told.  Like a good girl.

“Good baby.  Now come along. Come with Mommy.”

Toothless, exhausted, and stewing in my own piss, I wilted in Her arms, too tired to fully understand my situation.  The little boy who wasn’t so little crawled on Her left.  His shadow, still smiling with little pinpricks of starlight, crawled on the right.

And just as I was starting to lose consciousness, feeling doomed, I saw all the others like me, in the arms of gods and monsters, being burped and carried off into a starless, moonless night.

A ritual completed.

I also saw the others.  The ones who weren’t picked; staying in their cots.  Their alabaster coffins.

The last thing I saw before I faded out were those unlucky few.  Their breathing becoming more labored. Their eyes becoming glassy.  Their lips puckering.  Begging for milk.  Begging for life.  Their skin becoming pale and hard and brittle.

Like porcelain.

Like Dolls.  

And that was just the beginning. 

I don’t know if I’m at the end of my story, yet.  Maybe if I write this down, share it with you and warn enough people, I’ll get that happy ending I’ve been wanting so badly.

Maybe if I write it all down, pieces will start coming together and I’ll get back all that lost time that I’m missing.  

Maybe if I turn it into a story, a True Fairy Tale, They’ll stop having so much power.

Maybe the nightmares will stop.

Maybe...

-Alice

[D503]

Dark indeed! But very intriguing.

[WBDaddy]

This feels like a short.  And... I have at least a guess as to who wrote it.  But I'm probably wrong. 

[Personalias]

2 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

This feels like a short.  And... I have at least a guess as to who wrote it.  But I'm probably wrong. 

It's not a short.  It's ongoing. 

[WBDaddy]

27 minutes ago, Personalias said:

It's not a short.  It's ongoing. 

Cool.  Is the intro a gaslight? 

[smilekat414]

an AB version of changeling the lost, very interesting, look forward to seeing where this goes.

[Personalias]

9 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

Cool.  Is the intro a gaslight? 

Very much so.

7 hours ago, smilekat414 said:

an AB version of changeling the lost, very interesting, look forward to seeing where this goes.

So relieved that I'm not the only one who likes that game/canon.

[YourFNF]

Okay so I skimmed the first couple paragraphs and I love Fey stuff and this sounds fascinating but I can already feel the anxiety spike so... ?

*locks self in the bunker and loads the N7 with cold iron*

 

 

 

[Ketcher]

This is incredibly well written. Will we get to read more?

[LilBecca]

Ok I'm hooked   Looking forward to seeing where this goes...