"Oh Motherfather, no." It was a very bad and difficult habit for Bitter End, invoking Her name at any given moment. The sinking feeling in her gut felt it justified. It was her number one dream nemesis, the obelisk.
That darn obelisk.
"What do you want?" She hissed, backing up into a tide of pebbles, half-hoping it wouldn't reply. It did not, and a quick glace merely drew her eyes back to the imposing form. She did however, ascertain there were no killer plants - by sheer dint of having no plants at all - and knew from experience that she could not crouch back in hopes that nothing would happen, for something would anyway.
End sighed.
"I hope I don't regret this," she snarled, and touched it with the tip of her hoof.
Oh, it hurt like it first did, and for a moment End was disappointed in herself, as if she expected better of herself now for the stone to react to - wait, that makes no sense, she thought to the throbbing pain that coursed through her leg to her body, seizing her. Not like this - she insisted, tumbling quickly through wherever it was, eyes wide, teeth clenched.
"Oh." And there she was, home, it was night, it was peaceful and being who she was, she was naturally suspicious. She added up the odds in her head. Killer plants? Killer fruit? Quicksand? There were just too many things to consider. Oh no, she was starting to feel as neurotic as Sleepless. She had to face it - whatever it was, she knew it was coming. Something horrible was coming.
She spun round to face it.
"Oh."
The darn obelisk.
"It's you."
Like one would have expected of an inanimate object, it did not speak. Instead, it stood there, towering, glowing, just as it always did. It was alone, unfettered by vines, plants, its glow proudly broadcasting. What, she did not know, and she knew she would not be able to figure it out. Such academic pursuit was not her forte, but as her wide eyes were seized by its glow, her mind was racing.
"A challenge?" She suggested, never breaking the gaze. "A lesson? Does it matter?"
On that note, the familiar feeling started to open up her breast. Her chest started to heave, inflamed and expanding. It was familiar.
It was decay.
It was "bitter," and it was very familiar, a sensation she'd experienced from the beginning of her life, that festering in her heart, the eating at her ribcage. It swallowed her from her chest to her throat. This was the first sensation she'd remembered, and it seemed right. She gaped at the glow, letting it consume her.
Her first memory was her mother, perfunctorily saying "hello" and licking sternly at her closed eyes.
"Sleepless, where the heck are you?" She wondered aloud, breathing heavily.
There was no answer. "I wish I didn't know just how bitter it is now," she acknowledged, tired, morose and dramatic, "to die." Her head turned away, desperately seeking her last glimpse of the swamp. She understood: it started her, and it was only fair it would end her. She just hoped that Sleepless, and Mom...and maybe her family, and okay maybe even Twice, weren't alone. She sought to recall her last memories of them, mourning what she was sure was her upcoming departure.
For a moment, the rot seemed to halt.