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Loneliness.
It was Prism’s least favorite thing in the whole entire world.
Next was the SSS, of course.
Loneliness was the type of thing that hummed in the background of her mind as she did chores, built her house, went to the mines, etcetera, etcetera. It plagued her brain like disease, even though at times it felt like the cure was just in reach, yet always too far for her to grasp. Sometimes it dulled to a faint ache. Other times it felt like a great, icy, uncaring and cold mountain that stood unfaltering in her way. It made her want to kick, and scream, and cry, all into an empty, bottomless pit, just for it to fall on deaf ears.
Because that was the thing about loneliness—It wasn’t something you could talk about with someone else, as just feeling it meant you had no one else. No one to talk about the times she did things in secret. No one to even wonder what that could be. She didn’t take up space in the back of anyone’s mind, only her own. There was too much of her there, of her own thoughts, that she wished could be drowned out by the endless noise around her as she moved mechanically through her daily routine.
It felt like living in a giant cage she owned the key to open.
It felt like living in a bubble she could pop at any time.
She just had to try.
Except it felt impossible to start. Everyone had slipped into cliches, teams, alliances. They had time for only those now, no time to even spare her a glance. It was a lost cause. She was a lost cause. No, there isn’t any sense in trying now, Prism thought to herself, tail flicking against the soft wool sheets of her bed. A harsh bark echoed against the ice and wood of her home, bringing her attention back to the present. The dog she kept here with her, who hadn’t a name yet, (not because she lacked the creativity to give it one, but because she simply found it hard to care about such trivial things as its name), hadn’t been fed since last night. Still recent, just not recent enough. With a sigh, she checked her furnaces, taking some cooked salmon and passing it to the white-furred animal, who didn’t hesitate to devour the fish as if starved since the beginning of the server.
Prism stretched, checking through her chests. She pondered fixing her farm, but that didn’t appeal to her in the slightest. Fiddling with the bundles around her waist, she eventually found she was out of food. Her farm had been quite sad looking lately, she’d better let it rest, or however farms worked. If it wasn’t already apparent, she didn’t have many skills.
Like clockwork, she fashioned herself a set of iron armor for the trip. Her set of diamond with lapis trims was tucked away in her base, and she didn’t want to waste it. It was special to her—more than the set gifted to her by Nature, because this was a stranger’s kind gift, not a payment for a deal, which if you asked Prism, just seemed like charity work.
Most importantly, she grabbed her spyglass from the furnace next to her bed that she used as a side table. Grasping it, she flipped it over to look at the little icon on it. A small but recognizable little flame, bright orange. Prism felt her spirits lift a small amount.
It and her echo shard were a small reminder of the people who she didn’t know, but still probably cared. Probably. Hopefully. Well, she’d never talked to either of them, actually. Maybe a bit to Kris, but that was about it. And there was no way to ever talk to them again, because Kris was a Runaway Pirate—meaning she was literally 50,000 blocks out, and as for the mysterious individual who’d given her the spyglass and armor, she might never know who they really were.
Prism’s ears flicked subconsciously as she pushed her door open, only to be met with heavy winds and snow. In this weather, any cows or sheep she could kill for food would be taking shelter in caves, where zombies or skeletons could be. Polar bears, her usual go to for food, were even harder to see and about 10 times more dangerous in the blankets of white that smothered the ice. She sighed. Guess it was time to make do with what she had. Prism wasn’t big on carrots, but she could make it work for the day. Sitting back down on her bed, she leaned against the wall, putting her arms behind her head.
She was due for a day of rest, anyway. This week had been particularly grueling, with her spectacular failure to make an animal pen for a few cattle she’d abducted from the islands next to her biome. In the moment, she’d been devastated and upset by the destruction that one creeper had caused, but it did make for a great story, even if she had no one to tell it to. Prism let her eyes rest on the door, pondering what needed to be done. She could get more decorative trims for her armor, but she couldn’t go to the end to duplicate her eye trims, as the person who’d let her go to theirs wasn’t online. Keller, was it? She shook her head. The lapis trims she had on her armor now were fine, and just thinking about the work it’d take to go out and get more of the little templates tired her out.
Eyes resting, not quite closed, but more in a state of in between, she leaned back to slide down from the wall to her pillow, now having view of her ceiling. The dog, sitting on the edge of the bed, rested its head on its paws, almost as if to copy her. She briefly sat up to pat it on its furry head, lying back again and breathing in the air that seemed to tingle with frost.
She really should name that dog.