You charge out, but stop, suddenly, as it hurts icy fingers clutch as your neck, and haul you into the air. Slowly, something I͚͎̐ͥ̎̑̓̎͞ ̜͉͓̫̤͎̻ͦ͂̄̾̽͘͝h̷̛̭͖͙̝͉̥͓̾͐̈a̵̵̱͍̥̱͕̱͛̓͡v̸̭̮͚̬̞ͧ̋è̢̦̟͙̯̮̩͉͖̲̄ͪ́ ͧͪͬͦ̓͏҉̝̙̼̹̮͔͇y̡̙̞̺̯̰͍̘͗ͦ͝ͅȯ͕͓̺̘͇̫̼̻͊ͨ̽̆ͫͅṳ̘̻̬ͬͭ͊̽͜͜ comes into view. First, Long, spidery fingers, as white as ice Aͨͫ҉̻r̵̙͚̫͕͍̻ͯͭ̒̅͆̑́e͎͚̜̲̯̪̣̹̩ͯ̊ͩ̉͌̃͑ͪ͊ ̸̣͙̰̰̞̹̠̯ͤ͊ͭͧͩy̧̧͇͈̅̐̌ͧ̈ͨ̔ǫ̶̲̙͋ͫ̇̇̏̑ͥͅu̙͕̻̹͖͚̳͖̐̂ͨ ̶̨̼̣͔̍̀̎ͪͬȦ̙̗̥̞̒ͤ̍̓̓͌͗̕͝f̨̩͔͍̤͈̯͊͗͑ͨ̾ͣ̂͗r̴̢̼̬̅ͮͤ͆͐ͧͮã̯̳̺̆̊i̬̩͔͖̮̬̅̅́ͅd̾ͬ͊ͮͧ̓ͩ҉͎̭̰̣͘?̨̜̥̲̜̭͍̹ͤ̐̌ͬ̃̀͞ entwined about your throat. A long, black sleeve, spattered with blood. Still fresh. Ŷ̧͔͙̥͍̬̝̼̍̊̃ͩ͂͆ͥͨo̙͇̘͖̱̻̞̦͑̎̽̍̒̂̚͘̕͝û̲͈͍̲̭̪̈̃̄̐̉̾͗ ͉͎̹̳̺̲̥̤̠̋͋͑̚͜s̞̺͎͖͓̦̖̟͂̇͌ͤ̓̀h͙̦̹ͬ̋̏ͯ̿ͬͪ͆̀͜o̵͖͍ͩ̉ͯ̉ͪ͘ͅǔ͖̙̩̻̃̈́̎̒͐͠l̶̘̭͍̥͙̣͕̮͔̎ͣ̅̆̆ͯ͆d̸ͦ͏̞͖̣̙͍̯ ̳̥̳̀̂̊̎ͦͤ͋̚ḃ̵̪̹͙̓̾͊̉ͮ̕ę͂̇̾̀͏͈͎͓̜̯͕ A high, gothic collar, with a white shirt. spatted with blood. A scythe, with four blades arranged around the head, looms menacingly in it's other hand. D̸͎̞͖͔̹͉͕̱̹̺̩̝͛̆ͨ̉̓͑ͧͩ͛͛̆̕ȯ̟͙̝̪͇̱̙͙͇͈̪̮̲͙̙͍̟̗͍̋͆͌ͣ̈́̉͛ͥ͘͘͟͞ ̧ͫ̉͐̀͊̔ͪ́͂͊̅͐͡͞͏̹̜̼̟͓̘̰̺̳͖́y̸̴̭̗͉̥̆̐͛͐͛͌̋̾͋̊̀͡ͅǒ̶̡̧̮͙͙͑ͥ̍̈́̎͐ͧ̅̾͒̓̈́̽̉͠ͅu̷͌ͥ̍̓̽̊͆ͫ́ͧ̇ͮ̀̋̆ͦ͏̲̙̥̙̩͕̮̹̺̯̖̗ͅ ̌̀̇̋̏̆͌҉̸̨̡̯̞̙͕̫͙͚ḱ̴̷̯̣̰͒͂̏ͫ̈ͧ̀̌ͪ̃̂̾̈͂̆͘͘͟n̵̡̮̙͉̪̱̤̒ͣ̒̽̈́̒̄ͣ̾̎̆ơ̧̨̞͈̻͖̟̰͚̞̪̦͈͂̆̊̅ͬ̈ͧ̓͂̀̽̍̑̐̌̉̿w̨̢̘͈͎̺̖̼̦̲̱͍̺͍ͦͫ͋͑̽ ̛̊ͭ́̅͗̊ͧͪͦͤͨ̕͘͏̫͓͓͓͇w̷̝͚̝̼̾ͯ̓̑͐̑̉͒͆ͭh̡̨̗̙̦̭̝̞́̃ͯ̉ͯ͛́͢ỷ̢̫͈̙̩̭̺̯̖͔̤̰̞̜̦̮̌̆̏ͯ̈͐ͮͧ̄ͯ?̺̤̘̺̖̱̐̌̈ͮ̊ͬ̄̀̏͆̌́̈ͥ̏̋͊̉͘̕ͅ
What do you do?
Status: Fine
Sanity: Anxious
L hand: Revolver (6/0)
R hand: Old Machete
Inventory: 4/6
It is 0 degrees Farenheit
Attire: Windbreaker, Rain Coat, T-shirt, Cargo Pants, Pair of Trainers.
it hurts
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Topic: You are alone. (Read 54804 times)