ata.

Skye is dancing.

Liege leads.

It works perfectly, despite his small stature.

The Mistress stares in open astonishment.

Skye hasn’t danced a step in almost five years.

Her waltz is flawless.

The diamonds on her character shoes glint in the studio light as they glance off The Master’s broken limbs.

Hairline fractures.

For now.

His hands clutch tufts of Hedge’s feathers. 

Neither are completely incapacitated as of yet; the applicable phrase is “in hot water.”

Skeeter’s been bound & gagged- he’s old news.

Swivel will be his cellmate. 

All characters accounted for, the dance whirls on.

Skye is has been will be

^ dances.

boira.

The Mistress doesn’t know what to do with her head.
M.P. doesn’t know what to do with her eyes.
Swivel doesn’t know what to do with his feet.
Skye doesn’t know what to do with her smile.
Grier doesn’t know what to do with his soul.
Coggs doesn’t know what to do with his cerebrum.
Skeeter doesn’t know what to do with his shoulders.
The Master doesn’t know what to do with his clouds.
Elsie doesn’t know what to do with her inclinations.
Enna doesn’t know what to do with her cells.
Mismatch doesn’t know what to do with her hands.
Sphinx doesn’t know what to do with her answers.
Liege doesn’t know what to do with his pulse.
Chimaera doesn’t know what to do with his research.
Hedge doesn’t know what to do with Its alterations.

Uncertainty is entirely underrated.
Uncertainty is entirely overrated.

kasti.

Hedge guards Its secret with a fierce diligence worthy of Cerberus. 
This is a role It plays well, and It relishes the chance to demonstrate Its abilities.

It is well aware that only It possesses the unique qualities required for such a post.

Hedge has no heart.

A shadow of a being, a fabric swatch for the decor of nightmares- 
It merely leers in twisted pleasure at descriptions such as these.

A natural choice for Guardian. 
Who would attempt to shake anything from a half-rotted corpse of a gore crow?

Hedge ruffles Its feathers in self-content satisfaction.
Intimidation is so gratifying.

Knowledge is power.
Power is death.

Simple.

kraii.

The world is much simpler from above.
‘It’s all just a matter of perspective.’

Hedge watches from Its perch on high.
The humans are such funny things.
Stupid.
But funny.
They make for good sport, at least.

If It could, Hedge would lick Its lips in anticipation of Its next feast.
It has no lips.
Shame.

Ever a slave to Its insatiable hunger (but never seeing it that way), It paces the gables and scouts Its prey.
So many targets to choose from, so little time.
Hunt and feed, creep and leer- this is Hedge’s bread and butter.
And It wouldn’t have it any other way.

It is just a matter of perspective, after all.