Chapter Text
All she can do is think.
Think about that night, in her home.
The night she attained these ugly, disgusting scars all over her once pristine body. She hasn’t looked pristine since 14.
That was over ten years ago. Why isn’t she over it yet?
The flames danced in her mind like they were in a circus showing, every seat is booked and everyone is shouting. The circus tent itself looks more orange than red against the bouncing fire. The people shout louder, begging for more.
More.
More!
MORE!
Suddenly, the circus tent erupts into a wildfire of orangey-red. Yet, no one has moved.
Not one soul yells or even stutters.
The flames creep towards the seating, and it begins to eat at the people’s skin, their flesh smoldering and skin burning off the bone. Their clothes become tatters, and every hair is singed off their melting bodies. Alas, there is still no fuss.
The cheers only continue to get louder and louder—
Until it all ceases. Everyone is dead.
Moe’s nightmare was dead, too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Moe jolts awake in her bed, protected by stuffed animals forming a ring around her. Her sweat is cold and unusually aggressive, her bed has become slightly damp. Gross.
She stares at her fuzzy protectors, knowing they’re becoming obsolete. The nightmares have been getting much, MUCH worse; and no matter what she does, they can’t seem to be qualmed. With this notion, Moe grabs one plush by its long ears and brings it up to her eyes; a small lop-eared rabbit plush.
“…. Useless.” She mutters, in an almost-whisper. Her voice doesn’t sound as youthful as she remembered; her strong lisp sounds uncharacteristically weird for her deeper vocal tone.
God, she must’ve forgotten she was now 25 years old again. It agitated her.
She grunted and threw the overstuffed plushie against the wall, creating a very loud thump! that echoed through her bedroom.
For some reason, she liked the way that felt.
Wait. That was the exact wall that houses Ze’s room… and he is NOT a heavy sleeper.
Moe squeals a bit and fumbles with her phone in the dimly lit room, checking the time. 7:27 am.
FUCK.
It's TOO early.
She snatches the plushie off the floor and falls back into bed, fully expecting Ze to knock on her door and tell her to shut up or something.
But she waits. and waits. and waits.
Five minutes pass by. Nothing.
That’s… not like him.
… He must’ve actually taken that melatonin she recommended for his insomnia!
Moe lets out a happy noise. She’s so happy he actually decided to listen to someone for once. She knows damn well he wouldn’t listen to Regect’s ass.
…
Well, with no overly angry and groggy Ze at her door, Moe concludes that she would make an attempt to go back to sleep. With that, she threw her blankets back over herself, and—
Knock Knock Knock!
…
“Oh my god.” Moe thinks to herself in worry. Did he actually get up…?
Maybe she brought him out of melatonin-induced slumber. She hopes that’ll nullify some of his reaction.
rising from her soft sanctuary, the unusually tall clown walks over to the door, and passes a round, colorful mirror hung up on the wall.
Before daring to make another step, Moe stops to stare at herself, getting lost in her overwhelmingly negative thoughts again.
God, her nose was huge. Her bright-red loose baby hairs hung frazzled out of her bonnet, creating a barrier of bleached, dyed, and fried hair protecting her forehead. Her natural pitch-black eyes looked odd and somehow grayish in the dim lighting; it was like she wasn’t fully alive. Those blue contacts served her better.
Her dark skin tone, once shiny and glowing, looks incredibly sullen and gray. Moe remembered that her older sister used to make fun of her for these features, and…
Maybe she was right.
Maybe Moe’ll never be pretty like her.
Maybe she deserved to feel bad.
Maybe she deserved to—
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!
…. Oh. Right. The damn door…