Information

Chrysalis has a minion!

I am as trapped as the Painted Songbird

Chrysalis
Legacy Name: Chrysalis

The

Graveyard Illumis
Owner:

CMYK

Age: 14 years, 1 month, 2 weeks

Born: March 19th, 2010

Adopted: 10 years, 2 months ago

Adopted: March 7th, 2014

Statistics

Level: 1
Strength: 10
Defense: 10
Speed: 10
Health: 13
HP: 13/13
Intelligence: 0
Books Read: 0
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

7-2-2-4-3-5. That was her name, 722435. It was tattooed on the inside of her wrist, a constant reminder that she was not normal, that she was not even human. Her pale finger traced the numbers before clamping tightly onto them, her knuckles strained against her paper thin skin.

She was only a number, they said. Only a number. A number. Number...___

7-2-2-4-3-5

She could usually be found in the furthest corner in her cold, gloomy room, silently curled up like a small child. Soft whispers could be heard, a constant mantra within her mind made audible with a hoarse throat and dry tongue. Strange eyes would peer through the bars of her cage, just to make sure she was... Alive? Breathing? Perhaps they wished she were dead.

Only a number, only a number.

She didn't know when she ~~never~~ slept or when she ~~died~~ was awake. So trapped in her mind was she that she'd whisper quietly to herself every day in the darkness of her cell. Day, night, what relevance was it? A caged songbird, that's what she was. Her weak voice whispered its songs from behind those bars, where only the shadows and silence would hear her laments.

Only a number, only a number...____

I remember... Her voice slurred out, her eyelids blinking rapidly as forms burst in a kaleidoscope of colors from behind her eyelids. I remember a tiny chrysalis. It was so small, so fragile, would have been so easy to crush.

And what did you do to it? Another voice, this one clear but muddled in her brain. She blinked again, once, twice, her pupils wide, her irises only a small sliver of blue. She saw only a blur in front of her.

I watched it, day after day. She murmured. I remember going out to see what would happen to it. What would come out.

What became of it? The blur inquired, its voice growing further away. Like she was underwater almost.

A beautiful butterfly, wings sparkled like glass, so bright. A butterfly came out, not yet ready to fly. That beauty, I wanted to cherish it, but tiny foolish hands were never meant to touch something so fragile.

She said nothing and only closed her eyes.

October 23, 1974

Subject number 722435 showed signs of aggression today during therapy. She became increasingly hostile whenever I asked her for her name, as if she was frustrated that she could not remember. She acted almost feral, her eyes wildly rolling for an escape as she eventually snapped from the mental pressure and tried to physically assault me while screaming incoherently. The orderlies quickly shut down her attempts and removed her unconscious body from my office.
This is the 3rd year since subject number 722435's arrival onto our premises, and the imbecile's aggression still has not improved. Electroshock therapy is recommended.

The cacophony of sound and the bursts of color at the edges of her vision only caused her head to throb. 722435's head lolled back, her eyes rolling around without focusing on any one object. Everything seemed surreal to her, like a mish-mash of broken images pasted into a collage of reality and hallucination. Her stomach rolled, eyes dilating and heart pumping faster as she clumsily leaned to the side and heaved. Spittle came out and dripped onto the floor in a sticky mess, strands of greasy hair inadvertently catching drops of saliva as her back arched in reaction to another lurch of her stomach. All around, eyes stared, eyes looked away, but she remained unaware. She heaved again as colors swam before her eyes, and reality slipped away once more.

Thank you User not found: ganondorf for this lovely girl. ;;