Thirteen has a minion!
Minion the Clear Slime
Minion the Clear Slime
Legacy Name: Thirteen
The Custom Nightmare Feli
Age: 14 years, 7 months, 3 weeks
Born: February 4th, 2009
Adopted: 4 years, 1 week, 2 days ago
Adopted: September 23rd, 2019
- Level: 39
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 2
- Books Read: 2
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
☾ prologue ☾note to self: playlist for writing inspo
We meet our friend Jack on the very first evening of October. He is walking along Aspen Street, orange leaves crunching underfoot. The air smells like bonfires, but it is crisp, cool, biting. Jack pulls his sweater over his mouth and licks his chapped lips.
In his backpack are stuffed a variety of things: a flashlight, a small vial of holy water taken from his father's bedside table, a ratty film camera, and a thick parka. In his pants pocket he fiddles with his father's knife with sweaty hands and adjust the cord of his walkman.
You see, our dear friend Jack will not turn down a dare. Jack has a reputation to uphold at Devil's Cross High. So when Jack's good friend Denny dared him to break into the house (if it can really be called that) of the infamous local witch, Jack didn't have much of a choice.
And now Jack has come to the edge of the forest, just beyond the end of Aspen Street. A cool breeze shakes the leaves off the trees, and they fall on and around his boots.
His first step is hesitant.
The sun has begun to set; it casts an eerie orange glow and his shadow behind him grows tall. It follows him, growing larger and larger. In his ears, the walkman chants, ”I’ve been around for a long, long year / Stole many a man’s soul to waste…”
Soon Jack has gone so far into the forest that he looks back and the way out is unclear. All he sees are the gnarled branches of trees. He shivers and pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his shaking hands.
But Jack keeps on trucking on, because he has a reputation to uphold.
It seems to Jack like he has been walking for hours; he considers giving up on this seemingly futile dare. After all, no one he knows has ever confirmed the existence of the witch. She must just be a local legend, after all.
But — what’s that up ahead? It seems to have appeared out of nowhere: a small, dinky cabin. There are lights on inside; the two windows on either side of the door flicker by firelight, like the ominous grin of an enormous jack-o-lantern.
Jack gulps, and he can hear it over the music blasting in his headphones.
He shuts it off and slowly wraps the cord around. His hands are shaking. He shivers in the brisk autumn air.
He walks up the steps to the porch — creak, creak, creak. He winces with each step.
The door slowly creaks open. Instinctively, Jack reaches for the knife in his pocket and grips it so hard his knuckles turn white.
“Hello?” Jack calls.
No answer. Jack squeezes the knife in his hand, heart racing. He steps into the open doorway, and glances around the cabin. A fire flickers in the corner, but otherwise, the cabin is empty.
Suddenly, Jack's reputation doesn't seem so important. He thinks of how he is out here in the woods, and how Denny is too much of a scaredy-cat to come help him, even if he called.
"Thinking about cats?" a deep voice echoes throughout the cabin.
"Wh-what?" Jack calls. "Who's there? Are you the witch?"
A deep laugh resounds. Jack clenches his teeth and a chill runs down his spine. He sees a flash of black in the corner of his eye, and look over to the left side of the room. Standing in front of the fireplace is-- a tiny, winged, horned black cat?
"No," the cat says in that deep voice. "She's out. You just missed her, actually. How...unlucky." The cat laughs a booming laugh, which makes Jack jump.
"But you can wait here for her, if you want," the cat continues.
"Oh..." Jack stutters. "Yes, I think I will." He shuffles awkwardly in place.
"Well, alright," the cat says. "We haven't had a visitor here in a while, forgive me if my people skills are a bit rusty. In the meantime, would you like to hear a story or two?"
Beads of sweat drip down Jack's neck. What choice does he have? "Yes, that would be...nice," he says.
"Lucky you," the cat says. "I have quite a few to tell while we wait -- thirteen, to be exact."
☾ broken gaze ☾
Are you in for a scare?
Yes? Well come here and see Lizzie,
who's in quite a tizzy:
She stares in dumb wonder
at her terrible blunder
A big broken mirror --
Oh, what could be queerer!
she picks up jagged edges
and haphazardly wedges
them all where they should go,
at least, as much as she could know,
she thought not a piece out of place,
now what a disgrace!
for when she finally finished,
her triumph diminished
and in her head she conceded
that jagged puzzle desperately needed
the slightest correction
— after all, it wasn't her reflection
that stared back with a devilish grin,
excited for his portal to be finished again.