A young man cloaked in dark robes towered over me, looking like some kind of (dare I say it) samurai wannabe, or at least something Japanese in origin. I wasn’t entirely sure, and I honestly didn’t entirely care, as I was more focused on that blade, the blade used to slay that boy’s soul. Matching his strange aesthetic, the murder weapon in question was a dull katana, though hardly dull in sheen or sharpness as it was as pale as bone, and just proved its efficiency. No, I just found the damn things boring and was thoroughly unimpressed by this display of him sheathing the sword. To think that child that plagued me was sl

    I doubt you’d want to hear of what I do in my free time. I’m really very boring; you’d lose interest very quickly if I told you about my writings, projects, books, and practice in excruciating detail. Why would you be here if you wanted to hear tale of the Monstrumologist, when you could read it first hand? I highly doubt that’d interest you, so I’ll spare you the trouble. While yes, I will admit I spent quite a bit of time practicing various pieces on my dear violin and viola, in hopes to match one fictional Erich Zann, and even more time on stances and techniques in the saber I adored, all of this only amou

    It was late afternoon. As such, the sun hung low in the sky, causing the ground and roof ledges of Lolar to glisten from the morning's drizzle. Rain droplets wreathed the bus station, slipping from it and onto the ground, adding only further to the growing collections below. The slick road bore no cars on it, while its sidewalk carried but two individuals: a woman sitting on the curb, coat wrapped around her to shield herself from the heavenly tears, and yours truly: one miss Rose Lalonde.    The woman stayed where she was, huddled over the road. Her dark coat made near everything about her hard to determine save from her drooped shoulde