[ Alecto has never seen anything like this child's face. It is unreadable to her. It is ugly, but nearly everything is. All the beautiful things are gone.
The greetings are useless; the question even worse. Alecto ignores both, crossing the distance to reach out in curiosity towards the child. If not stopped, Alecto will lie a hand upon their face, and she will cock her ugly head to the side, trying to understand. ]
Since morning.
[ What is morning? ]
Who made you?
[ Because Alecto certainly cannot, and neither can her sisters. Not anymore. ]
no subject
The greetings are useless; the question even worse. Alecto ignores both, crossing the distance to reach out in curiosity towards the child. If not stopped, Alecto will lie a hand upon their face, and she will cock her ugly head to the side, trying to understand. ]
Since morning.
[ What is morning? ]
Who made you?
[ Because Alecto certainly cannot, and neither can her sisters. Not anymore. ]