[shadow=black,left]PAOLA VASQUEZ[/shadow]

Haven Island.

As soon as Paola lands on its lonely shore, she hears the boat behind her whirr to life. She whirls around, startled, and watches anxiously as the vessel begins pulling away. "Hey! This island isn't haunted, is it?" The other member doesn't respond, opting to only wave its tail in amused farewell. Her pelt bristles at the audacity, and a few irritated curse words fall from her words until her paw hits the flask that she's brought with her.

She grimaces at it, using her tail to maneuver the lid and lift the uncapped container to her mouth. "If there are ghosts in here, I swear to all the gods…" She doesn't finish her threat. With a long sigh, she throws her head back and downs the jungle juice in one fell swoop, refusing to breathe through her nose to dull the taste. Once she sets it down and throws the loop around her head to bring it with her, she allows herself a few short breaths and finally notices that the taste has since gone down, leaving only subtle notes of something that she can't quite place.

With a determined nod to herself, Paola heads into the jungle. For a few short moments, nothing happens, and she thinks that the jungle juice is nothing more than a scam to freak her out—but then the edges of her vision blurs, spiraling into indecipherable shapes, swirling into an obnoxious mass of color before exploding into black…

and then everything is back to normal.

"Is that it?" Paola chances a look at her body, flexing her hooked claws before peering over her shoulder. Her hindquarters are the same, too, the sleek black scales at home in the shadows of the night. "I seem to be alright," she murmurs, raising a massive paw to pat around her head and trace the crown of horns that sit on her head. "I seem to feel alright."

"That's because it's fake, silly," a mirthful voice chides, and Paola turns to the source, finding instead a cream-colored wolf grinning impishly at her. Its blue eyes nearly throw her off her feet. "The whole thing is a sham. You know what they say about pirates—the sharper the sword, the softer the heart."

"I think so too," she offers happily, padding over to her friend and giving her ear a gentle nip. "I'm so glad that you made it here! I've been waiting for the others to start popping up but so far it's just been me—and you, wow, I can't believe you're actually here!" Paola leans forward, brushing her muzzle against her partner's and feeling her heart swell with contentment. "I've waited so long for you."

"I know, Paola," the stranger whispers back, and Paola purrs as the cream-colored cat brushes against her side, leading the way deeper into the jungle. "You wouldn't believe what I've seen and done these past few years. B̶̡̧̢̨̛̛͙͔̺̯̭͇̭͇̟͖͍͚͕̫̼͔͕͕̙̯̠̠͍̤̬͎̰͍̟̣̺̤̠̗̺̗̘͇̼͖̼̯̣̭̲̺͉̙̬̟̣̜̯͓̰̫̳̪̗͔͉͓̪̪̘̥̳̐͒̇̔̒̃̉̊̿̈́͑̑͋̽̅̓͒͌̋͆̎̃̌́̑͗͊̉͗̍̓͘͘̕͘̕͘͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅë̷̡̨̢̢̢̧̢̢̨̨̡̡̛̛͇̥͎̦͓̤̯͙̰̱̯͈̘͕̯͕̳̜͚̣͎̺͙̪̤̱̟͍̙͉̰̥͈͓̹͈͇̘̳̯̬̖̤̺̹̰̹̲̝͕̭̘̭͍̥̭͈̳̱̹̜̖̠̘̻̘͙͉̣̤̳̖̻̮̲̯̯͎̫̩͓̣͕̩̯͙̫̥̪̭̮̠̖͈̙̺͐̿̋̋́͛̈́́̈́̓̓̔̊̀̑͆̒̔̊̍͋̎̈́͌̒̀̍͑͆̏̍̾̍͒̅͌̓̔̈̂̈́͛̔͋͋̑̾͑̆͂͊̇̂̽͛̊̐̿̈̔͑̑̒́̀̅̏́͌̀̌̓̊̽͂̈́̂̽͛̈̐͊͑̄́̊̒̈́̓̐̅̔̄͘͘̚̕̕͜͝͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅn̸̨̨̨̧̨̨̛̛̠̲̙̫̹̱͙̹̮͓͈͎̠̪̫̟͔̲͚̰͍͍̣̲͖͓̮̳̺̩̯̈́̉͆̏̎͌̓̌̓̐͆̄͊͜͜ͅj̸̡̧̨̡̨̢̨̛̛̞̭͚̗̦̠̜͎̺͖͍̳̩̣̖̖̻̗̖̝̮̪̻̖͎̼̘͇̝̝͔̝̯̟̘̖̣̦͓̗̙̞̜̳̙̱̼̻̖̝̣̱̝̪̫͎͙̭̬̞̻̗̲͈̘̝͓̑̃̒̾̿͌̉̓͛̈́̋̉̍͛́́̃͌̒̉͗̏́̿̐͌̔̽́̽̒͒̾̓͌́̓͑̍̒͆̈͒͌̿͌̐̽̑͋͑̕̚̚͘̚͜͝͝͠͝ͅa̴̢̢̘͔̙͈͙̠̭͖̟̺̣̹̲̟͓͍̫̗̰̖̦̦̩̣̙̹̞̺̻̟̯̺̮̞̱̪̳̟̖̥͖̲̭̬̬̟̼͔͖͚̰̬̳̜̜̣͓̠͕͙̐̒͐̏͒́͆̂͜͜͜ͅm̵̧̡̧̧̧̧̡̧̨̨̨̛̛̛̛̥̲̲̞͖̮̹̘̭̬̮̣̬̟̫̦̩̳̰̗̗̞͕̗͔̘͎͉̼̺̲̯͍͇͔̼͉͎͓͇̠̣̗̖̪̲̭̠̳̜̠̪̝̮̪̖͚̲͕͈̳̯͓̳̜͍̫̖͎̭̼̜̗̝̫̗̲̼̳̻̲̯͕̝̹̖̰̼͖͍̣̞̘̝̱̭̣͉̟̤̤͙̯̩͈͇̩̬̈̂̆̆̏͊̎̌̃̎̉͑̇̏̃͋̀̽̇̀̓͂͋͑̓͑̾̇͑̈́̀̂͗̆͒͊͋̀͑̆̐̊̀̈͂̈̾̉̀͑̊͆̾͛̃͊̆̄̉̈́̈́̈̀̿̇̒͆͒̑̀̇̓̐́͋͒͌͂͗́͆͆͛̏͛͐͐̓̑͒̿̈́̊̉̒̓̇̾́̀́̒͑̒̉͊͆̐̈̑̆͆̊̓̅̽̏͘̚͘̚̚͘̕͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͠ͅͅi̵̧̧̛̛̛̠͉̠̰̟͔̖͕̗͓̱̩̩̖̹̼̲͚̮̝̪̞͍͉̖̺̻̞̱̞̽̒̽͑̈́̀̔̂̓͒͆̓̌̊̇̑͛͌̍̈́͆̓̉͐͐̒̿͗̀̎̈́̍̎͌̈́̃̈͊̊̂̀̐́̀̍̿̊͊̎͋̓̈́͒̅̾͑̌̿̃̏̓͐̊̊̇̓̈́̆͋̀̈͑̈̔͆̿̄̐̒̈́̒́̉̿̎͊̓̋͊͘̚͘͘̕̕͠͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅn̴̨̧̨̢̢̧̧̨̲͈͖̯̙̰̜͔̭̥̯̲̦̹̙͙͈̝̣̭̮̱͚͓̱̬̞̣̘̱̫̩̰̜̙̺̩̙̙̱̪͓̜̥̙̺̥̟̠̯̤͓̰̯̙̭̺̼̲̟̖͉̬̪̟̖̱̈̓͊̀͂͊͋͑̌̿̀̂͊͗͗͋̇̀̒͋̕̚̚͜͜͝͠ͅͅ has kids now, can you believe it? It feels like it was just yesterday when he was training us."

"Gods, he's old," the black she-cat snorts, thinking fondly of her old friend, the eldest of them. He had been surprisingly kind—perhaps the kindest of all the older members of the group. "I miss the old scumbag, though. Not that I'll ever admit it to him."

"We should visit him soon," the cream-colored doe says, sounding wistful but eager, and Paola can't help but nod her feline head. She inches closer to her partner, their pelts brushing with every step. "I miss you, Paola. I wish you'd come home."

"I am home." They reach another coast, its upper banks elevated from the shoreline. They sit, tails intertwining, two wolves dotting the endless, murky, angry, serene sky. "I can't wait for you to meet our captain and her family—and Georgia, I think you'll like her, I think I like her, and Devland! He's my best bud, you'll adore him."

None of the words seem to reach her. Paola doesn't seem to notice. Ş̸̢̧̢̡̡̼̝̰̞͈͈͔͖̪̟̳͉͈͚̦̰̪̺͎̹̔͐̑̐͛̒͂̍̿͂̉͗̍͌̈́͋̿̉̿͐̂͆̃̾͌͊̚͝͠ͅơ̵̮̲̻̳̳̜̬̖͎̝̟̦̱̰͐̎̃͌͊̋̀͛͗̃̾̐̒̔̍͒̅̂̈́̐̍̓̇͋̚̚̚̚͘͜͜͠͠ͅl̵͇͓̠̫̺̦̞̤̔̆͌̃̀̆e̵͎̣͍̳͚͎̞̟̟̣͉̫̺̥͌̀͆̃̈́d̵̢̨̛̜͔̹͉̪̼̬̘̼̖͇͕͙̭̳̬̭̤̗̯̘̪̪͍̼͉͇̟̩̗̘̻͉͙̘̤̃̔̓̅̎̀̊́̑̓̎̾̌̽̄̏̇̉̑̍̈́͋̌̄̃̃̋̀̾͆̇̔́̌̌̚͘̚̕͜͝͝h̵̰̓̾͝͠ş̵̛͚͕̘̥̮̻͇̫̰̊̌̾̅́͊̿͒̿̈́͊̈̍̓̉̐̃́̆͜͝͝ͅķ̷̡̣̬̪̳̳̯̗̺̰̗͍̫̜͈͈̝͕̦̗̥̣̩̂̔̔̀̄̅͂̉̉̐̑̀́͊̑̎͒̏̐̀̅̃̽̎̌̀̆̒̿̊̍̕͘̚͘͜͝s̷͔̜͎͔͍̻̺̦̪͚̀̔͂͂͌̿͜͝ leans her muzzle on the black cat's shoulder and Paola happily accepts it.

"I wish we could go back," her wife whispers, each breath cold across her fur. Paola finds herself nodding in agreement, missing the old training ring and the obstacle course and the ephemestrials that roamed their land. "I remember when you were ten moons old and trying to p̴u̷l̸l̷ ̵a̶ ̷p̷r̶a̸n̶k̸ o̶̮͝n̵͕͂͝ ̴͙̋B̷̙̘́̕ě̵̪́n̸̢̳̈́j̸͕́͠ȁ̵̺͋m̶͍̿i̴̙̺̽n̴̗̞͋ e̴̳̿̎ ̷̞̗͗p̶̩͓̍à̸͇̱̓n̸̉͜r̸͔̈a̴̞͠ ̴̤͇̅͠ḛ̵̽̓ȓ̴ͅe̴̜͑͒ ̷̟͛h̴̬̯̃a̶͓͐ͅo̴̠͠ ̴̟͆̂f̷̨͎̑i̷̢͌l̷̢̹̀o̶̻͑̀n̶͙̫̑̄."

"I'm sorry, honey, I don't think I caught that," Paola chuckles, nudging the cold body beside her teasingly. "Wanna try again?"

Y̸̛̥͍̙̘̫̭̤̹͔̻̫͎͌̇̏̒͐̔̀̾̍̉͊̓̀́̋̽̆̇̀̀͌͌͊̍̔̔͌̅̎̽̕̚̚͘͠͝O̴̧̨̡̨̡̧̨̡̱͖̫͓̦̱͖͚͈͉̳̪̤͍̱̗͙̯̰̗̬̪̝̻̖̪̞̿̀̃̋͐͆̾́̏͊͊͊͌͑̔̇̽̐̍͋̽̚͜͜͝͝Ư̷̩̔̑̔̀̃͌͒͐̀̽͋ͅ ̸̛̛͕͖͊͆̌̒̒͐̐̀͒̈́̎͌̽͘̚D̶̨͉͕͔͙̻͎͈̲̗̠̦͋́̃͋̓̋̋̄͗͋͐͐̓̕O̷̩͆͌̿̌̈́̾͒̈͗̊̈́̈́͛̽̔̈́̀̈͂̐̈́̿́̐̎̔̓̉̃̈́͛̔̄̓̃̋͐̚͝ ̶̨̛̥̝̟͍̫͖̞̗̞̲̯̝͈̘͖̣̫̯̞̀̏̊̑͋̂̉̍̕̚ͅN̸̢͉͉̪͍͑͛̐̈̆͘̕O̵̡̹̳̹̞̯̳̞̱͕͈̺̓̅̅͑̇̃͐̓̈͂͂̽̌̾́͐̉̆̽̉̏̾̓̑̾̀̌̆̍̾̓̓͊̐̄̄̒̿̍̚̕͜͜͝͝͝T̷̜̱̣̰͓̗͔̬͙̪̻̯̩̭̘̞̙͎̱̂̃̾̀͆͛̈́̋̅̇̿̀̾͐̍̑̂͋̄͊͌̕͘͘̕̚͜͜͝͝͝ ̶̘̭̈̌́͐̅̃͗̑̂͝B̷̡̧̡̡̞͍̼̻̹̩̯͎̹̦̝͍̻̩̹͉̭̥͖͈̬̟̺̗͙͓͕̗̞͍̙̮̭̙̝̭̾̈̀̀̈́̆̆̈̽͊̊̂͛̋̐̍͗̕͘͘͜͝͝Ĕ̴̡̯̣̯͖̿͒̀́̉̍L̷̨͙̤̺̯̬̝͒́͊͐̋̇͛̓̊̒̊̍̑̚͘O̷̢̯̤͓͔͔͔̩͔̩̲͙̺̼̜͉̞̬̠͚̣̿̃͊͗̃͛́͂̂̉̊̒̆͛̆̽͆̈́̔̿̓͗̆͐̄̃͂̈̈́̔͊̽͂͘͘̚͝͠͠N̵̨̧̢̢̢̢̛͇̗̬̦̺̭͈̝̗̲͕̹̯̫̮̙͙͇̲̱̥͉͎̳̥̲͙̞̱̥͕̈́̎̽̐́̔͐̿͂̔͒͛̇͊̉̈͆̒̆́̈́͛͋͝͝ͅͅG̴̢̛̗͈͍̠̺̟̹̣̫͕͈̰͙̬̠̯͙̦͎̻̫̺̘̯̠͚̫̮̬͖̅̀̾̽̇̀͂̊͜

The sudden yell causes Paola to jump back, fur bristling as a massive fiend stares back down at her with five white eyes. Slowly, its jaws begin to part, splitting in four different directions a̶̢̡̛̤̣̲̋̋̓͊̕͝ņ̵̹̫̞̤̮͆̈́́̊̈́͗̀d̵̰̲̠̞̱̭͇̩͂̽ ̶̜̟̇̽̉l̸̹̓̄͐̏ȩ̸̛̦̝̯͚͍͐̀̉͋ͅt̸̢̳̱͎͛͘͠t̴͖̼̓͋͒̑̽̊ǐ̵͔̦̙͉͜ǹ̵̰̺̞͈͛̊̀̐̃ͅg̵̢̛͈͉͎̣̳ ̶̠̮͕̞̳͇͎͑̒̊͜ļ̵͎̫̠͇͙̼͍̏̈́͂̑̅̈̚ò̶̥̞̫́̒̒̔̀ͅŏ̴̹͔̝̹̱̱͚̜̊̌͝͠ş̴͓̘̀̓͌̇̔̒̈͝ȇ̷̪̰̹̄̒̑̄̀̃͝ ̵̛̬̩̹̀́̓̈́́̒ẁ̴͈͎̻̞̎̈́̎̓͂̊͘r̵̢͉̺̙̞̱̩͑͗̅̿͜i̴͕͛̓͠ț̶̦͖̦͖̲̓̈͂̌͝h̵̰͉̾̎͗̏̐í̵̼͍̬͋̅̄̎̔̇͝ǹ̸̡̻̼̙̩̩̇̔g̸̖͐͒͘ ̴̮̘̺͌̋̽̈́͂̈́̐ţ̸̤̘͙͈̀̈͆͒̈́͠e̴͙̼̙̭͇̅̈́͂̾͠ņ̶̹͕̫̈́̐̎́̋̔̇͌͜ạ̶̜̈̋̓̔̀͝t̶̨̂́̎͒̍a̷̢̐̍̋̅̎͛̈́͝ ̴̜͎̖̮̠̭͒͛̔̐̓ṵ̷̯́̈́̽͗̕m̵̳̪̲̞̈́̓̂̚ͅ ̷̱̫̿̒͌c̶̘͑́͒͒̈̐̍͠ṟ̵̐̈́̉̈́́͂́̕ạ̵̦̟͎̺͙̘̓͋̿̀̋̈́̐u̸̡̝̳͋͌̌̽̕l̴̛͓͎̻̖̹̖̃̿̒é̵̡̥̜̬̳͕̗͍̉ ̴̜͕̃͗̾ẹ̸̡̣̣̲̺̭͜͝ŗ̴̼̻͔͚͕̗͈̓̂̂ë̸̫̘̝̲̳͎̖͉́̀̈́ ̵̧̲͈͍͙͔̪̓̆̒̒t̸̻̩̠̺̘͖͔̒͊͋̈͝ǫ̵̧̖̟̞̆̓͆͂͊̀̏̚n̵̡̝͚̭̝̤̫͌͌̍͛͗̽͒ǫ̷̤͉̳̭̖̦̿́ ̸̡͎̞̜͍̮̉̽̌͐͛̿̕̕m̵̱͖̤͍͌̇͘͠͝ī̶̫̩̙̻̲̒̋̈́͘͝ ̷̣͒̅̂s̷͖͈̱̟͈̫̊o̵͙̥̒̏͂̕l̷̺̑͘ì̵͈̋͊̚͝e̷̳̩̪̙̓̉͝ņ̸͚̱̳͒t̶̫̠̰͑͊͆̾̑̾͘͜e̴̗͋̈́̉͝ ̸̮̮̥̼͓̿ͅv̸̢̮͈͇̟͙̳̾͆́e̶̺̪̓̇͊ ̸͕͎̲̤̓͂̿̀u̴͍̳͚̠͖̮͛̎̃̏́l̶̻͒͒̅̏̌̈̚͘t̴̝͇̦̜͙͙̖̀ị̷̡̧̢̳̦͕̬̎̏͋m̴͈̻̳͉͚͎͌́̂̓̄̓a̴͉̝̬̠̮̟̫̭̽ ̶̧̺͈̀̀́͘̕s̷̨̺̘͍̩̅͊̑ͅą̷̼̯̲̘̒̎̔̓̀̄̈͜r̷̨̉́̍ǫ̸̨̭̫̹̆̇ ̶̢̬͓͗d̸̘̣̥̼̠̙̀̄͒̒͌̕ȯ̸̭̫͂͜͠ ̸̡̩͚̥̜̜͔͓͗̎͠ḫ̴̞͋̆̽o̶̧̼̰̠̻͑̏͒͗̌̈́͝r̵̡̻͖͖̮̩̝̼͋͆̑̎͛̒̌͝e̴̢̎̀s̶͔̉̈́̀͋ ̴͔̳̪͎͇̈́̈̊͝ẏ̶̟͉̳͚̻̭͓͙ ̶̣͊͊͊̾̓͜m̷̢̻̻̟̣̪̤̻̓͊̉͑̌̔̿̂a̷̤̩̻̯̠̓͂ͅr̴͉̻͂͜o̷̢̟̬͆̆́́̓̃̕͠ṉ̶̡̨̫͚̬̺̠͆̀̈́̆̔̃ ̵̨̭̫̱̂͆̈́͆͊̂̽ḁ̵͔͍̞̮̦̹͋̌͊̾̋̉̀r̴̨̗̜̭̈́̿̔g̶̻̳̙̏̋̍̿͒̈͠ǫ̴̺̝̗̣̗̏̈͌͑͜͠ͅ ̵͍̜̼̯̅̂͜v̷̩̠̩͗̈́̀̕ä̶̢̩͕̩̱͎̦̲́̋̐̈́̇l̸̨̳͕͕͉͉͙͆͆́̓͛a̵̡̯̞̜̣̝̐̈́̍̐̍͌̚s̴͓̘͕͓̦͈̟̅͜ ̸̛̺̹̻̰̉̊m̷̼̳̽̎̏͒̈́̒i̶͚̤͕̎̀́̆͊e̵̛̲̦̖̺̜r̵̡̠̬̹̦̝͑̕t̵̛̯͕͇͇͑̐͆́̋͗͠r̶̻͕̙̺̤̻̐̕͝e̷̢̝͍̺̘̝̱̫̋̏̕ ̶̪̬̪͌͂̍̎̈́͐̕e̴͔̺̙͚͛̇͒ͅ ̷̠̯̟̺̰̣̖̦̅̅̈̅͗̈͐̚s̴̰͝o̴̢͓̬̳͉̲̲̮͒͝͝l̷̨̧͖̺̻̰͖͒͠a̸̡͚̽̿̏̀ ̷̡͈͙͇͇͜͝m̶̡̯̖̭̂i̷̛̤͐͗̋͋͒̕͝ę̴̨͈̮͉͙̜́̚̚͜r̴̡̦͚̦̣͉̱͐̓͛ͅt̷̫̉͐̾̂ŗ̵̆̽̾̉̀̚ė̵͉̺̠̠̞̤͇́̎ͅ.

u̴̻̟̇ ̶̡͖̹͉̰͖̏́͝͝ṉ̶̡̥̯͉̒̀̌͗͌͗̚͝o̶͇̬̟̱̰̽͋͝ ̷̧̰͔̝͔̟͙͑̎͜ḧ̷͎̦̹́̉̋̂̒̇̀͘ą̷̹̪͔͉̋̈́̐̒̀ ̷̯͖̺͈͈̩̊͒f̶̖͑̊̊͒ḛ̵͎̼͆͗͒̋̀́̕͜l̵̘̊͗̋̂̽ō̷̠̤͔̙̮̝̪ͅǹ̵̹̣̣̊͑̏̒̐̈ ̶͍͕͉̳̝͎̙̈̾̀̀u̸̧̨͈͍͓̬̥̔ ̴͎͇̣͚̓́n̷͇͍̣̮̼̘͌͑̿̑͗o̷͇͖̲͇͉̒̂̊͗͝͝ ̷̘̓̒͆̑̏̈͝b̷̢̹͔͔̀́͊̏̍̆e̴̥̦͘͝l̵̰̞͖̝̈̌̉̉͌o̴̙͗̕n̴̢̙̭̗̯̪̆̏̿g̶̪̹̯͎͓̊ ̷̨̦̈́̈́̔̚ỳ̴̢̩͋̈́͘ơ̸̡̩͚̼͕̾̎̂̇̿̉̐͜ū̴̡̠̰͓̺͎̼̇̋̔̈̓ ̴̨̦̠̞͆̈́̾̉̀̍̅d̸̜̯̣̲̮̙̻͆͐́̀̎͂͠o̷͉̜̞͖̤̣̎͑̑̎̌̈́͝ ̸͈̀̋n̸̨̬̙̤̮̠̮̿̃͝͠o̴̺̭̗̮̐̿͘t̸͕̮͈̫̾̀̌͘̕ ̵̢͓̪̬̖͖̈́̿͆̈̈́̕ͅb̸̛͎̞ë̵͕̺̹̠͚̭́̀̑̀̆̀̎̀ĺ̶͓͒̀̉̄́̈́͘o̵̪̣̤͗̋̋͝n̷̢͈̻̬̖̣̥̈̇ḡ̸̟̓̄͜͠͝ ̷̛͖͍̞̣͖͚͚̄̑̚ȳ̷͉̥͗͐̒̈́o̵̥̱͓̖̪͒̄̓͛̐̈́͘u̷͇͔̿̏͐̌͆̎̎ ̵͍͖̜̩̏̊͛͋̾̇d̵͍̘͕̓̄̊͂̾̊o̶̡̙̬͂̔̍͂̃̀͋ ̵̧̡̠͉̦͕̘͉̿͗͛͂͑̕n̵͉̥̥͊̊̅̃̃̕͝ǒ̴͕͕̱̬̖͊̊̀͜ț̷̨̽́̉̓ ̵͎̘̻̑̀̈́͗̓̚͠b̷̨̢̺̰̒ẹ̸̗̟̈̏̑̒̂̂ļ̸̧̨̘͖̪̬͉̏̀̌o̵͛̓͌̑̍̊͜n̶̡̹̠̻̜̹̘̉̈́͂̐͑́̿͜g̵̬̫̹̠͖̥̻̪̎̑̅̊ ̷̠̦̣͙̆̀͋͜͜͝y̴̭̜̣͚̿͊̂͑͑̈́̎͝ͅö̴̼̥̭͑̊͒̔͛̿͜u̸͖̾͊̚̕ͅ ̵̛̰̼̏͒̓d̶͖̻̬̆̈́̑̉͛̾͝͝ö̴̗̰̙͎̲̱͎́ ̷̗̙͕͋͐̎͊̉͑͝ṉ̸̛͓͙̣͔͉̞̋̑̆̌̑̃͝ǫ̸̞͇̪͉̳̓̀̀̌̎̍̌ţ̷̢͚͚̩͎͇̳̑ ̵̮͔̞̮͇̮̰̑̓̑͑̾̒̚b̶̛̖͕͑̇͌͆͌͜e̶̢̹̬̒͗͂̎̚̕l̸̝̻͚̮̻̆̇̋̕͝o̴̖͒͋͐̄̽n̷̝̺̭̝̗̩̰̓̇̇̑̎̀̈́g̶̣̥̠̓̐̔̒̂ ̷̧̯̦̬͖̃̓̌y̷̘̝͙̞̦̬͊͌̽ͅo̴̙̙͇̤̾͛̓͜u̶͇̭͠ ̸̡̰͕̥̮̬͍̼̆̉ḓ̴̄́̔̍̾ô̵͉̘̯̫͇͌̇̓̐ ̶̥̫́̿̈́͗͌̏̿n̴̛͈̉̚ò̶̢͚̟̱͖̹͉͒͠t̶̬̰̞̓̔̒͂̇́ ̶̫̪̭͊b̵̛͕̱̣̩̐̋̿̈͗̒͠ę̷̧͙̥͍̇̔̉̆̈l̸͓̭̭͕̖̠̙̔̒̓̆͊̐͘̕ͅỡ̴̛͔̘̖̣̗̊͛n̵̨̹̞̼͎̍̌̎͑͂̑̆͛g̵͉̋͋̂

u̴̻̟̇ ̶̡͖̹͉̰͖̏́͝͝ṉ̶̡̥̯͉̒̀̌͗͌͗̚͝o̶͇̬̟̱̰̽͋͝ ̷̧̰͔̝͔̟͙͑̎͜ḧ̷͎̦̹́̉̋̂̒̇̀͘ą̷̹̪͔͉̋̈́̐̒̀ ̷̯͖̺͈͈̩̊͒f̶̖͑̊̊͒ḛ̵͎̼͆͗͒̋̀́̕͜l̵̘̊͗̋̂̽ō̷̠̤͔̙̮̝̪ͅǹ̵̹̣̣̊͑̏̒̐̈ ̶͍͕͉̳̝͎̙̈̾̀̀u̸̧̨͈͍͓̬̥̔ ̴͎͇̣͚̓́n̷͇͍̣̮̼̘͌͑̿̑͗o̷͇͖̲͇͉̒̂̊͗͝͝ ̷̘̓̒͆̑̏̈͝b̷̢̹͔͔̀́͊̏̍̆e̴̥̦͘͝l̵̰̞͖̝̈̌̉̉͌o̴̙͗̕n̴̢̙̭̗̯̪̆̏̿g̶̪̹̯͎͓̊ ̷̨̦̈́̈́̔̚ỳ̴̢̩͋̈́͘ơ̸̡̩͚̼͕̾̎̂̇̿̉̐͜ū̴̡̠̰͓̺͎̼̇̋̔̈̓ ̴̨̦̠̞͆̈́̾̉̀̍̅d̸̜̯̣̲̮̙̻͆͐́̀̎͂͠o̷͉̜̞͖̤̣̎͑̑̎̌̈́͝ ̸͈̀̋n̸̨̬̙̤̮̠̮̿̃͝͠o̴̺̭̗̮̐̿͘t̸͕̮͈̫̾̀̌͘̕ ̵̢͓̪̬̖͖̈́̿͆̈̈́̕ͅb̸̛͎̞ë̵͕̺̹̠͚̭́̀̑̀̆̀̎̀ĺ̶͓͒̀̉̄́̈́͘o̵̪̣̤͗̋̋͝n̷̢͈̻̬̖̣̥̈̇ḡ̸̟̓̄͜͠͝ ̷̛͖͍̞̣͖͚͚̄̑̚ȳ̷͉̥͗͐̒̈́o̵̥̱͓̖̪͒̄̓͛̐̈́͘u̷͇͔̿̏͐̌͆̎̎ ̵͍͖̜̩̏̊͛͋̾̇d̵͍̘͕̓̄̊͂̾̊o̶̡̙̬͂̔̍͂̃̀͋ ̵̧̡̠͉̦͕̘͉̿͗͛͂͑̕n̵͉̥̥͊̊̅̃̃̕͝ǒ̴͕͕̱̬̖͊̊̀͜ț̷̨̽́̉̓ ̵͎̘̻̑̀̈́͗̓̚͠b̷̨̢̺̰̒ẹ̸̗̟̈̏̑̒̂̂ļ̸̧̨̘͖̪̬͉̏̀̌o̵͛̓͌̑̍̊͜n̶̡̹̠̻̜̹̘̉̈́͂̐͑́̿͜g̵̬̫̹̠͖̥̻̪̎̑̅̊ ̷̠̦̣͙̆̀͋͜͜͝y̴̭̜̣͚̿͊̂͑͑̈́̎͝ͅö̴̼̥̭͑̊͒̔͛̿͜u̸͖̾͊̚̕ͅ ̵̛̰̼̏͒̓d̶͖̻̬̆̈́̑̉͛̾͝͝ö̴̗̰̙͎̲̱͎́ ̷̗̙͕͋͐̎͊̉͑͝ṉ̸̛͓͙̣͔͉̞̋̑̆̌̑̃͝ǫ̸̞͇̪͉̳̓̀̀̌̎̍̌ţ̷̢͚͚̩͎͇̳̑ ̵̮͔̞̮͇̮̰̑̓̑͑̾̒̚b̶̛̖͕͑̇͌͆͌͜e̶̢̹̬̒͗͂̎̚̕l̸̝̻͚̮̻̆̇̋̕͝o̴̖͒͋͐̄̽n̷̝̺̭̝̗̩̰̓̇̇̑̎̀̈́g̶̣̥̠̓̐̔̒̂ ̷̧̯̦̬͖̃̓̌y̷̘̝͙̞̦̬͊͌̽ͅo̴̙̙͇̤̾͛̓͜u̶͇̭͠ ̸̡̰͕̥̮̬͍̼̆̉ḓ̴̄́̔̍̾ô̵͉̘̯̫͇͌̇̓̐ ̶̥̫́̿̈́͗͌̏̿n̴̛͈̉̚ò̶̢͚̟̱͖̹͉͒͠t̶̬̰̞̓̔̒͂̇́ ̶̫̪̭͊b̵̛͕̱̣̩̐̋̿̈͗̒͠ę̷̧͙̥͍̇̔̉̆̈l̸͓̭̭͕̖̠̙̔̒̓̆͊̐͘̕ͅỡ̴̛͔̘̖̣̗̊͛n̵̨̹̞̼͎̍̌̎͑͂̑̆͛g̵͉̋͋̂

u̴̻̟̇ ̶̡͖̹͉̰͖̏́͝͝ṉ̶̡̥̯͉̒̀̌͗͌͗̚͝o̶͇̬̟̱̰̽͋͝ ̷̧̰͔̝͔̟͙͑̎͜ḧ̷͎̦̹́̉̋̂̒̇̀͘ą̷̹̪͔͉̋̈́̐̒̀ ̷̯͖̺͈͈̩̊͒f̶̖͑̊̊͒ḛ̵͎̼͆͗͒̋̀́̕͜l̵̘̊͗̋̂̽ō̷̠̤͔̙̮̝̪ͅǹ̵̹̣̣̊͑̏̒̐̈ ̶͍͕͉̳̝͎̙̈̾̀̀u̸̧̨͈͍͓̬̥̔ ̴͎͇̣͚̓́n̷͇͍̣̮̼̘͌͑̿̑͗o̷͇͖̲͇͉̒̂̊͗͝͝ ̷̘̓̒͆̑̏̈͝b̷̢̹͔͔̀́͊̏̍̆e̴̥̦͘͝l̵̰̞͖̝̈̌̉̉͌o̴̙͗̕n̴̢̙̭̗̯̪̆̏̿g̶̪̹̯͎͓̊ ̷̨̦̈́̈́̔̚ỳ̴̢̩͋̈́͘ơ̸̡̩͚̼͕̾̎̂̇̿̉̐͜ū̴̡̠̰͓̺͎̼̇̋̔̈̓ ̴̨̦̠̞͆̈́̾̉̀̍̅d̸̜̯̣̲̮̙̻͆͐́̀̎͂͠o̷͉̜̞͖̤̣̎͑̑̎̌̈́͝ ̸͈̀̋n̸̨̬̙̤̮̠̮̿̃͝͠o̴̺̭̗̮̐̿͘t̸͕̮͈̫̾̀̌͘̕ ̵̢͓̪̬̖͖̈́̿͆̈̈́̕ͅb̸̛͎̞ë̵͕̺̹̠͚̭́̀̑̀̆̀̎̀ĺ̶͓͒̀̉̄́̈́͘o̵̪̣̤͗̋̋͝n̷̢͈̻̬̖̣̥̈̇ḡ̸̟̓̄͜͠͝ ̷̛͖͍̞̣͖͚͚̄̑̚ȳ̷͉̥͗͐̒̈́o̵̥̱͓̖̪͒̄̓͛̐̈́͘u̷͇͔̿̏͐̌͆̎̎ ̵͍͖̜̩̏̊͛͋̾̇d̵͍̘͕̓̄̊͂̾̊o̶̡̙̬͂̔̍͂̃̀͋ ̵̧̡̠͉̦͕̘͉̿͗͛͂͑̕n̵͉̥̥͊̊̅̃̃̕͝ǒ̴͕͕̱̬̖͊̊̀͜ț̷̨̽́̉̓ ̵͎̘̻̑̀̈́͗̓̚͠b̷̨̢̺̰̒ẹ̸̗̟̈̏̑̒̂̂ļ̸̧̨̘͖̪̬͉̏̀̌o̵͛̓͌̑̍̊͜n̶̡̹̠̻̜̹̘̉̈́͂̐͑́̿͜g̵̬̫̹̠͖̥̻̪̎̑̅̊ ̷̠̦̣͙̆̀͋͜͜͝y̴̭̜̣͚̿͊̂͑͑̈́̎͝ͅö̴̼̥̭͑̊͒̔͛̿͜u̸͖̾͊̚̕ͅ ̵̛̰̼̏͒̓d̶͖̻̬̆̈́̑̉͛̾͝͝ö̴̗̰̙͎̲̱͎́ ̷̗̙͕͋͐̎͊̉͑͝ṉ̸̛͓͙̣͔͉̞̋̑̆̌̑̃͝ǫ̸̞͇̪͉̳̓̀̀̌̎̍̌ţ̷̢͚͚̩͎͇̳̑ ̵̮͔̞̮͇̮̰̑̓̑͑̾̒̚b̶̛̖͕͑̇͌͆͌͜e̶̢̹̬̒͗͂̎̚̕l̸̝̻͚̮̻̆̇̋̕͝o̴̖͒͋͐̄̽n̷̝̺̭̝̗̩̰̓̇̇̑̎̀̈́g̶̣̥̠̓̐̔̒̂ ̷̧̯̦̬͖̃̓̌y̷̘̝͙̞̦̬͊͌̽ͅo̴̙̙͇̤̾͛̓͜u̶͇̭͠ ̸̡̰͕̥̮̬͍̼̆̉ḓ̴̄́̔̍̾ô̵͉̘̯̫͇͌̇̓̐ ̶̥̫́̿̈́͗͌̏̿n̴̛͈̉̚ò̶̢͚̟̱͖̹͉͒͠t̶̬̰̞̓̔̒͂̇́ ̶̫̪̭͊b̵̛͕̱̣̩̐̋̿̈͗̒͠ę̷̧͙̥͍̇̔̉̆̈l̸͓̭̭͕̖̠̙̔̒̓̆͊̐͘̕ͅỡ̴̛͔̘̖̣̗̊͛n̵̨̹̞̼͎̍̌̎͑͂̑̆͛g̵͉̋͋̂ u̴̻̟̇ ̶̡͖̹͉̰͖̏́͝͝ṉ̶̡̥̯͉̒̀̌͗͌͗̚͝o̶͇̬̟̱̰̽͋͝ ̷̧̰͔̝͔̟͙͑̎͜ḧ̷͎̦̹́̉̋̂̒̇̀͘ą̷̹̪͔͉̋̈́̐̒̀ ̷̯͖̺͈͈̩̊͒f̶̖͑̊̊͒ḛ̵͎̼͆͗͒̋̀́̕͜l̵̘̊͗̋̂̽ō̷̠̤͔̙̮̝̪ͅǹ̵̹̣̣̊͑̏̒̐̈ ̶͍͕͉̳̝͎̙̈̾̀̀u̸̧̨͈͍͓̬̥̔ ̴͎͇̣͚̓́n̷͇͍̣̮̼̘͌͑̿̑͗o̷͇͖̲͇͉̒̂̊͗͝͝ ̷̘̓̒͆̑̏̈͝b̷̢̹͔͔̀́͊̏̍̆e̴̥̦͘͝l̵̰̞͖̝̈̌̉̉͌o̴̙͗̕n̴̢̙̭̗̯̪̆̏̿g̶̪̹̯͎͓̊ ̷̨̦̈́̈́̔̚ỳ̴̢̩͋̈́͘ơ̸̡̩͚̼͕̾̎̂̇̿̉̐͜ū̴̡̠̰͓̺͎̼̇̋̔̈̓ ̴̨̦̠̞͆̈́̾̉̀̍̅d̸̜̯̣̲̮̙̻͆͐́̀̎͂͠o̷͉̜̞͖̤̣̎͑̑̎̌̈́͝ ̸͈̀̋n̸̨̬̙̤̮̠̮̿̃͝͠o̴̺̭̗̮̐̿͘t̸͕̮͈̫̾̀̌͘̕ ̵̢͓̪̬̖͖̈́̿͆̈̈́̕ͅb̸̛͎̞ë̵͕̺̹̠͚̭́̀̑̀̆̀̎̀ĺ̶͓͒̀̉̄́̈́͘o̵̪̣̤͗̋̋͝n̷̢͈̻̬̖̣̥̈̇ḡ̸̟̓̄͜͠͝ ̷̛͖͍̞̣͖͚͚̄̑̚ȳ̷͉̥͗͐̒̈́o̵̥̱͓̖̪͒̄̓͛̐̈́͘u̷͇͔̿̏͐̌͆̎̎ ̵͍͖̜̩̏̊͛͋̾̇d̵͍̘͕̓̄̊͂̾̊o̶̡̙̬͂̔̍͂̃̀͋ ̵̧̡̠͉̦͕̘͉̿͗͛͂͑̕n̵͉̥̥͊̊̅̃̃̕͝ǒ̴͕͕̱̬̖͊̊̀͜ț̷̨̽́̉̓ ̵͎̘̻̑̀̈́͗̓̚͠b̷̨̢̺̰̒ẹ̸̗̟̈̏̑̒̂̂ļ̸̧̨̘͖̪̬͉̏̀̌o̵͛̓͌̑̍̊͜n̶̡̹̠̻̜̹̘̉̈́͂̐͑́̿͜g̵̬̫̹̠͖̥̻̪̎̑̅̊ ̷̠̦̣͙̆̀͋͜͜͝y̴̭̜̣͚̿͊̂͑͑̈́̎͝ͅö̴̼̥̭͑̊͒̔͛̿͜u̸͖̾͊̚̕ͅ ̵̛̰̼̏͒̓d̶͖̻̬̆̈́̑̉͛̾͝͝ö̴̗̰̙͎̲̱͎́ ̷̗̙͕͋͐̎͊̉͑͝ṉ̸̛͓͙̣͔͉̞̋̑̆̌̑̃͝ǫ̸̞͇̪͉̳̓̀̀̌̎̍̌ţ̷̢͚͚̩͎͇̳̑ ̵̮͔̞̮͇̮̰̑̓̑͑̾̒̚b̶̛̖͕͑̇͌͆͌͜e̶̢̹̬̒͗͂̎̚̕l̸̝̻͚̮̻̆̇̋̕͝o̴̖͒͋͐̄̽n̷̝̺̭̝̗̩̰̓̇̇̑̎̀̈́g̶̣̥̠̓̐̔̒̂ ̷̧̯̦̬͖̃̓̌y̷̘̝͙̞̦̬͊͌̽ͅo̴̙̙͇̤̾͛̓͜u̶͇̭͠ ̸̡̰͕̥̮̬͍̼̆̉ḓ̴̄́̔̍̾ô̵͉̘̯̫͇͌̇̓̐ ̶̥̫́̿̈́͗͌̏̿n̴̛͈̉̚ò̶̢͚̟̱͖̹͉͒͠t̶̬̰̞̓̔̒͂̇́ ̶̫̪̭͊b̵̛͕̱̣̩̐̋̿̈͗̒͠ę̷̧͙̥͍̇̔̉̆̈l̸͓̭̭͕̖̠̙̔̒̓̆͊̐͘̕ͅỡ̴̛͔̘̖̣̗̊͛n̵̨̹̞̼͎̍̌̎͑͂̑̆͛g̵͉̋͋̂ u̴̻̟̇ ̶̡͖̹͉̰͖̏́͝͝ṉ̶̡̥̯͉̒̀̌͗͌͗̚͝o̶͇̬̟̱̰̽͋͝ ̷̧̰͔̝͔̟͙͑̎͜ḧ̷͎̦̹́̉̋̂̒̇̀͘ą̷̹̪͔͉̋̈́̐̒̀ ̷̯͖̺͈͈̩̊͒f̶̖͑̊̊͒ḛ̵͎̼͆͗͒̋̀́̕͜l̵̘̊͗̋̂̽ō̷̠̤͔̙̮̝̪ͅǹ̵̹̣̣̊͑̏̒̐̈ ̶͍͕͉̳̝͎̙̈̾̀̀u̸̧̨͈͍͓̬̥̔ ̴͎͇̣͚̓́n̷͇͍̣̮̼̘͌͑̿̑͗o̷͇͖̲͇͉̒̂̊͗͝͝ ̷̘̓̒͆̑̏̈͝b̷̢̹͔͔̀́͊̏̍̆e̴̥̦͘͝l̵̰̞͖̝̈̌̉̉͌o̴̙͗̕n̴̢̙̭̗̯̪̆̏̿g̶̪̹̯͎͓̊ ̷̨̦̈́̈́̔̚ỳ̴̢̩͋̈́͘ơ̸̡̩͚̼͕̾̎̂̇̿̉̐͜ū̴̡̠̰͓̺͎̼̇̋̔̈̓ ̴̨̦̠̞͆̈́̾̉̀̍̅d̸̜̯̣̲̮̙̻͆͐́̀̎͂͠o̷͉̜̞͖̤̣̎͑̑̎̌̈́͝ ̸͈̀̋n̸̨̬̙̤̮̠̮̿̃͝͠o̴̺̭̗̮̐̿͘t̸͕̮͈̫̾̀̌͘̕ ̵̢͓̪̬̖͖̈́̿͆̈̈́̕ͅb̸̛͎̞ë̵͕̺̹̠͚̭́̀̑̀̆̀̎̀ĺ̶͓͒̀̉̄́̈́͘o̵̪̣̤͗̋̋͝n̷̢͈̻̬̖̣̥̈̇ḡ̸̟̓̄͜͠͝ ̷̛͖͍̞̣͖͚͚̄̑̚ȳ̷͉̥͗͐̒̈́o̵̥̱͓̖̪͒̄̓͛̐̈́͘u̷͇͔̿̏͐̌͆̎̎ ̵͍͖̜̩̏̊͛͋̾̇d̵͍̘͕̓̄̊͂̾̊o̶̡̙̬͂̔̍͂̃̀͋ ̵̧̡̠͉̦͕̘͉̿͗͛͂͑̕n̵͉̥̥͊̊̅̃̃̕͝ǒ̴͕͕̱̬̖͊̊̀͜ț̷̨̽́̉̓ ̵͎̘̻̑̀̈́͗̓̚͠b̷̨̢̺̰̒ẹ̸̗̟̈̏̑̒̂̂ļ̸̧̨̘͖̪̬͉̏̀̌o̵͛̓͌̑̍̊͜n̶̡̹̠̻̜̹̘̉̈́͂̐͑́̿͜g̵̬̫̹̠͖̥̻̪̎̑̅̊ ̷̠̦̣͙̆̀͋͜͜͝y̴̭̜̣͚̿͊̂͑͑̈́̎͝ͅö̴̼̥̭͑̊͒̔͛̿͜u̸͖̾͊̚̕ͅ ̵̛̰̼̏͒̓d̶͖̻̬̆̈́̑̉͛̾͝͝ö̴̗̰̙͎̲̱͎́ ̷̗̙͕͋͐̎͊̉͑͝ṉ̸̛͓͙̣͔͉̞̋̑̆̌̑̃͝ǫ̸̞͇̪͉̳̓̀̀̌̎̍̌ţ̷̢͚͚̩͎͇̳̑ ̵̮͔̞̮͇̮̰̑̓̑͑̾̒̚b̶̛̖͕͑̇͌͆͌͜e̶̢̹̬̒͗͂̎̚̕l̸̝̻͚̮̻̆̇̋̕͝o̴̖͒͋͐̄̽n̷̝̺̭̝̗̩̰̓̇̇̑̎̀̈́g̶̣̥̠̓̐̔̒̂ ̷̧̯̦̬͖̃̓̌y̷̘̝͙̞̦̬͊͌̽ͅo̴̙̙͇̤̾͛̓͜u̶͇̭͠ ̸̡̰͕̥̮̬͍̼̆̉ḓ̴̄́̔̍̾ô̵͉̘̯̫͇͌̇̓̐ ̶̥̫́̿̈́͗͌̏̿n̴̛͈̉̚ò̶̢͚̟̱͖̹͉͒͠t̶̬̰̞̓̔̒͂̇́ ̶̫̪̭͊b̵̛͕̱̣̩̐̋̿̈͗̒͠ę̷̧͙̥͍̇̔̉̆̈l̸͓̭̭͕̖̠̙̔̒̓̆͊̐͘̕ͅỡ̴̛͔̘̖̣̗̊͛n̵̨̹̞̼͎̍̌̎͑͂̑̆͛g̵͉̋͋̂ u̴̻̟̇ ̶̡͖̹͉̰͖̏́͝͝ṉ̶̡̥̯͉̒̀̌͗͌͗̚͝o̶͇̬̟̱̰̽͋͝ ̷̧̰͔̝͔̟͙͑̎͜ḧ̷͎̦̹́̉̋̂̒̇̀͘ą̷̹̪͔͉̋̈́̐̒̀ ̷̯͖̺͈͈̩̊͒f̶̖͑̊̊͒ḛ̵͎̼͆͗͒̋̀́̕͜l̵̘̊͗̋̂̽ō̷̠̤͔̙̮̝̪ͅǹ̵̹̣̣̊͑̏̒̐̈ ̶͍͕͉̳̝͎̙̈̾̀̀u̸̧̨͈͍͓̬̥̔ ̴͎͇̣͚̓́n̷͇͍̣̮̼̘͌͑̿̑͗o̷͇͖̲͇͉̒̂̊͗͝͝ ̷̘̓̒͆̑̏̈͝b̷̢̹͔͔̀́͊̏̍̆e̴̥̦͘͝l̵̰̞͖̝̈̌̉̉͌o̴̙͗̕n̴̢̙̭̗̯̪̆̏̿g̶̪̹̯͎͓̊ ̷̨̦̈́̈́̔̚ỳ̴̢̩͋̈́͘ơ̸̡̩͚̼͕̾̎̂̇̿̉̐͜ū̴̡̠̰͓̺͎̼̇̋̔̈̓ ̴̨̦̠̞͆̈́̾̉̀̍̅d̸̜̯̣̲̮̙̻͆͐́̀̎͂͠o̷͉̜̞͖̤̣̎͑̑̎̌̈́͝ ̸͈̀̋n̸̨̬̙̤̮̠̮̿̃͝͠o̴̺̭̗̮̐̿͘t̸͕̮͈̫̾̀̌͘̕ ̵̢͓̪̬̖͖̈́̿͆̈̈́̕ͅb̸̛͎̞ë̵͕̺̹̠͚̭́̀̑̀̆̀̎̀ĺ̶͓͒̀̉̄́̈́͘o̵̪̣̤͗̋̋͝n̷̢͈̻̬̖̣̥̈̇ḡ̸̟̓̄͜͠͝ ̷̛͖͍̞̣͖͚͚̄̑̚ȳ̷͉̥͗͐̒̈́o̵̥̱͓̖̪͒̄̓͛̐̈́͘u̷͇͔̿̏͐̌͆̎̎ ̵͍͖̜̩̏̊͛͋̾̇d̵͍̘͕̓̄̊͂̾̊o̶̡̙̬͂̔̍͂̃̀͋ ̵̧̡̠͉̦͕̘͉̿͗͛͂͑̕n̵͉̥̥͊̊̅̃̃̕͝ǒ̴͕͕̱̬̖͊̊̀͜ț̷̨̽́̉̓ ̵͎̘̻̑̀̈́͗̓̚͠b̷̨̢̺̰̒ẹ̸̗̟̈̏̑̒̂̂ļ̸̧̨̘͖̪̬͉̏̀̌o̵͛̓͌̑̍̊͜n̶̡̹̠̻̜̹̘̉̈́͂̐͑́̿͜g̵̬̫̹̠͖̥̻̪̎̑̅̊ ̷̠̦̣͙̆̀͋͜͜͝y̴̭̜̣͚̿͊̂͑͑̈́̎͝ͅö̴̼̥̭͑̊͒̔͛̿͜u̸͖̾͊̚̕ͅ ̵̛̰̼̏͒̓d̶͖̻̬̆̈́̑̉͛̾͝͝ö̴̗̰̙͎̲̱͎́ ̷̗̙͕͋͐̎͊̉͑͝ṉ̸̛͓͙̣͔͉̞̋̑̆̌̑̃͝ǫ̸̞͇̪͉̳̓̀̀̌̎̍̌ţ̷̢͚͚̩͎͇̳̑ ̵̮͔̞̮͇̮̰̑̓̑͑̾̒̚b̶̛̖͕͑̇͌͆͌͜e̶̢̹̬̒͗͂̎̚̕l̸̝̻͚̮̻̆̇̋̕͝o̴̖͒͋͐̄̽n̷̝̺̭̝̗̩̰̓̇̇̑̎̀̈́g̶̣̥̠̓̐̔̒̂ ̷̧̯̦̬͖̃̓̌y̷̘̝͙̞̦̬͊͌̽ͅo̴̙̙͇̤̾͛̓͜u̶͇̭͠ ̸̡̰͕̥̮̬͍̼̆̉ḓ̴̄́̔̍̾ô̵͉̘̯̫͇͌̇̓̐ ̶̥̫́̿̈́͗͌̏̿n̴̛͈̉̚ò̶̢͚̟̱͖̹͉͒͠t̶̬̰̞̓̔̒͂̇́ ̶̫̪̭͊b̵̛͕̱̣̩̐̋̿̈͗̒͠ę̷̧͙̥͍̇̔̉̆̈l̸͓̭̭͕̖̠̙̔̒̓̆͊̐͘̕ͅỡ̴̛͔̘̖̣̗̊͛n̵̨̹̞̼͎̍̌̎͑͂̑̆͛g̵͉̋͋̂ u̴̻̟̇ ̶̡͖̹͉̰͖̏́͝͝ṉ̶̡̥̯͉̒̀̌͗͌͗̚͝o̶͇̬̟̱̰̽͋͝ ̷̧̰͔̝͔̟͙͑̎͜ḧ̷͎̦̹́̉̋̂̒̇̀͘ą̷̹̪͔͉̋̈́̐̒̀ ̷̯͖̺͈͈̩̊͒f̶̖͑̊̊͒ḛ̵͎̼͆͗͒̋̀́̕͜l̵̘̊͗̋̂̽ō̷̠̤͔̙̮̝̪ͅǹ̵̹̣̣̊͑̏̒̐̈ ̶͍͕͉̳̝͎̙̈̾̀̀u̸̧̨͈͍͓̬̥̔ ̴͎͇̣͚̓́n̷͇͍̣̮̼̘͌͑̿̑͗o̷͇͖̲͇͉̒̂̊͗͝͝ ̷̘̓̒͆̑̏̈͝b̷̢̹͔͔̀́͊̏̍̆e̴̥̦͘͝l̵̰̞͖̝̈̌̉̉͌o̴̙͗̕n̴̢̙̭̗̯̪̆̏̿g̶̪̹̯͎͓̊ ̷̨̦̈́̈́̔̚ỳ̴̢̩͋̈́͘ơ̸̡̩͚̼͕̾̎̂̇̿̉̐͜ū̴̡̠̰͓̺͎̼̇̋̔̈̓ ̴̨̦̠̞͆̈́̾̉̀̍̅d̸̜̯̣̲̮̙̻͆͐́̀̎͂͠o̷͉̜̞͖̤̣̎͑̑̎̌̈́͝ ̸͈̀̋n̸̨̬̙̤̮̠̮̿̃͝͠o̴̺̭̗̮̐̿͘t̸͕̮͈̫̾̀̌͘̕ ̵̢͓̪̬̖͖̈́̿͆̈̈́̕ͅb̸̛͎̞ë̵͕̺̹̠͚̭́̀̑̀̆̀̎̀ĺ̶͓͒̀̉̄́̈́͘o̵̪̣̤͗̋̋͝n̷̢͈̻̬̖̣̥̈̇ḡ̸̟̓̄͜͠͝ ̷̛͖͍̞̣͖͚͚̄̑̚ȳ̷͉̥͗͐̒̈́o̵̥̱͓̖̪͒̄̓͛̐̈́͘u̷͇͔̿̏͐̌͆̎̎ ̵͍͖̜̩̏̊͛͋̾̇d̵͍̘͕̓̄̊͂̾̊o̶̡̙̬͂̔̍͂̃̀͋ ̵̧̡̠͉̦͕̘͉̿͗͛͂͑̕n̵͉̥̥͊̊̅̃̃̕͝ǒ̴͕͕̱̬̖͊̊̀͜ț̷̨̽́̉̓ ̵͎̘̻̑̀̈́͗̓̚͠b̷̨̢̺̰̒ẹ̸̗̟̈̏̑̒̂̂ļ̸̧̨̘͖̪̬͉̏̀̌o̵͛̓͌̑̍̊͜n̶̡̹̠̻̜̹̘̉̈́͂̐͑́̿͜g̵̬̫̹̠͖̥̻̪̎̑̅̊ ̷̠̦̣͙̆̀͋͜͜͝y̴̭̜̣͚̿͊̂͑͑̈́̎͝ͅö̴̼̥̭͑̊͒̔͛̿͜u̸͖̾͊̚̕ͅ ̵̛̰̼̏͒̓d̶͖̻̬̆̈́̑̉͛̾͝͝ö̴̗̰̙͎̲̱͎́ ̷̗̙͕͋͐̎͊̉͑͝ṉ̸̛͓͙̣͔͉̞̋̑̆̌̑̃͝ǫ̸̞͇̪͉̳̓̀̀̌̎̍̌ţ̷̢͚͚̩͎͇̳̑ ̵̮͔̞̮͇̮̰̑̓̑͑̾̒̚b̶̛̖͕͑̇͌͆͌͜e̶̢̹̬̒͗͂̎̚̕l̸̝̻͚̮̻̆̇̋̕͝o̴̖͒͋͐̄̽n̷̝̺̭̝̗̩̰̓̇̇̑̎̀̈́g̶̣̥̠̓̐̔̒̂ ̷̧̯̦̬͖̃̓̌y̷̘̝͙̞̦̬͊͌̽ͅo̴̙̙͇̤̾͛̓͜u̶͇̭͠ ̸̡̰͕̥̮̬͍̼̆̉ḓ̴̄́̔̍̾ô̵͉̘̯̫͇͌̇̓̐ ̶̥̫́̿̈́͗͌̏̿n̴̛͈̉̚ò̶̢͚̟̱͖̹͉͒͠t̶̬̰̞̓̔̒͂̇́ ̶̫̪̭͊b̵̛͕̱̣̩̐̋̿̈͗̒͠ę̷̧͙̥͍̇̔̉̆̈l̸͓̭̭͕̖̠̙̔̒̓̆͊̐͘̕ͅỡ̴̛͔̘̖̣̗̊͛n̵̨̹̞̼͎̍̌̎͑͂̑̆͛g̵͉̋͋̂

Í̸̧̢̧̧̢̧̢̡̢̧̧̛̛̛̛̛̞̗͍͔̞͍͎͍̟͉̥̜̙̝̩̙͙̘̟̹̲̺̠͙͚̲̤̻̹̮̤͎̻̞͕̱͎͎͔̟͖̥͍̻͇̺͕͕̭̘͍̜̗̩͈͍͕͎̻̤͓̩̩̱̪̲̟̹̭̻̪̼̝͇͇̝̫͔͉̗͉̮̬͉̫̞͉̱̩͚̝͔̲̣̭̼̙̟̖̠͕͎̜͖̩̟͇̖͚̜͍͔̥̪̝͇̝̬̜̼͂̀̿̎̆̇͗̅̈͛̿̆͂͋͌̾͌̈́̀͆̀͂̌̈́̓́͗́̎̀͆̈́̅̒̌̀̉̄̿̐̈̈̏́͐͛͂̐̇͗̎̈́̍̊̂̆̽̀̽͌̆̅͆̄̀̏̌̃̄̄͌̍̀̃̐͛̈́̍̆̋̑͛͛́͐̈́̍̑̔̒̿̉̂̒̓́̉̽̓̔͗̑͘͘̚̕̚̚͜͝͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅ ̴̡̧̨̢̧̨̡̛̺̫̝͈̜̼͖̥̫̜̮͈̹͓̪̦̻̻̱̰̖̞͖̞̝̹̖̳͍͒̄̄͌͑̚͘͜͜͜͝ͅẢ̶̢̢̨̛̛̛̛̛̱̟̞̠̹̥̮̳͓͔͚͎̬̠̺̠̝̪̣̼̱͖̥̦͚̯͓́͊̉͒̽̈́̀̍̽̄͊͊̿̾͗͛̐̇̌͋̽͋͋͂̋̏́̋̒̐̀͌̈͆̔̇͑̐̃̍͂̔̈͛͆͊̆̀̄͂͒̀͗͂͌̉̅͗̌̋̈̉̈́̂͛̚̕̚̕̚̕͘͝͝͠͝M̶̧̧̢̛̛̲͉̥͕̬̻͙͔͇̩̻̤̤͈̹̻͎̜̠̞̞͙͕͉̗̠̣̹̳̹̣̜̟̭͓͔̲̙̫͔̬̲̼̯͙̫̳̪̩̼̟̤̭̰̜̙̝̠̘̟̤̣̺͈̂̾̽̈́͋̋̿͌͆̆̔͌́͒̽̈́̌̐̃̿̉̉̓̈̑̾͂̃͊͋̈̈́́̀̓͆̊́͊̅̑͆̌́͋̒́̋̑̈́̕̕̕̚͝͠͠ ̶̧̨̡̧̧̨̛͕̘͙̲̦͖͙̤̥̲͓̝̼̣̖̦̺͇̦̞̝̫͓̘͎̟̠̝̟͇̰̺͇̦͍͍̜͚͓̣̦̥͕̦̤͓̝͍̱̟̝̗̳̤̘̫̌̓̊̒̇͛͂̃̿͑̔̅̊̀̀́̓̄̅̋̈́͌̓̍͌͒̊͂͛͆̀͐͋̓̀͒͂̆͐̇̏̿͗́̎͛͒͒̂̊̑͛̔̿̍̑̒́̕̚̕͜͝ͅͅY̵̨̢̢̡̢̧̧̧̡̛̱̤͇̮͈̖̩͎̯̯̰̥͔̥̱̭̤̼̤̩̱̯̬͕̜̣͙͔͉̥̺̘͈̥͇̻̙͎͈̭̟̤̤͓̥͇̮͐͗̄̈́̄̔̉̅͐̃̅̃̋̾̈͋̿͆̎̋̌͑̒̂͊̓͗̄̔͒͑́͋̄̾̍̀̒͛͆̚̚Ơ̸̡̨̛̛̰̣̝͎̳͈͉̼̯̭̳̱͖̱̻̘̖̪̖͚̼̗̝͉̞͈̗̙̳̣͍͖̱͕͇̞̮̠͈̣̖̘̝̹̣̰̞͓̝͔̓̎̄̅̒̇͋̇̅̒̇̇̈́́̒̏̐̿͂̓̾͐͑̀̄̓̈̋̀̏̉̔̂͋́̍͐̽͆̍͂̏̔͋̋͐́̓̇̽͋̋̆̆̍͂̊͌͆̄̍͗̃̓͂͘̚̕͘̚͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅÙ̸̢̧̧̳̖͕̤̻̫̘͔̪͙̞̻͔̫̗͔̤̞̙̺͈̫̜̥̤̠̪͎̭͎̪̰̳͎̘̩̤͎̘̹̟͓̥̞̩̖̥̰̮̮͇̭͓͈̤͇͙̫̻̥̺̝̓̃͑̈́̏̌͆̄̉͒̈̀̈́̌̃̐̓̒̇̈̋͆̑̎̈́̈͛̋̕͘̕͘̕͜͝͠Ŗ̵̛̻̖̝̯̗̲͕̩͈̆̑̂̀̒̓͆̒̽̓̌̄͛̋̎̌̄͐̄̅̈́́̊̈́̈́̐͌̃́͆̃͂̐̒̚͘͘͜͠͝͝͝͝͠ ̴̧̡̧̡͔̙͍̞̮̠̮̱̞̱̟͓̩͇͎͉̠̦̂̓͑̋̊̆͋͒͗̌̎͋́̽̾̆̐͐͑͒̆̈̂̾͗͒̋͋̋̐̋̅͆̍́̑̐̓̄͋͑͐͋̔̅͊͂̓͂̈́͗̈́̋̓̄̑̕̚̚̚̕̕̚͜͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͝G̷̨̧̨̢̢̨̢̨̡̡̡̨̛̪͈̩͙̜̬͖̥̞̭̫͓͈̰̫̥̙̥̺̯͓͚̰̞̱̯̻̲͎̳̱̣̙̙̼̱͎̻͔̣̯̲̭̤͕̯̰̠̥̳̗͔͍͔̖͔̞͈̱͔̹̦̭̣͙̀̑͑̾̓̍̂̂̌͗̌̅̆̋͋̀̓̅͌̂̈́̐̅̇̇͐̊͗͒̔͌̃͂̇͛́͒̂̇̏͐͋̋́̐̈͌̎͊̀̉̓͂̍̂̓̕̚͘͘̚̚͠͝͝O̸̢̢̡̡̢̨̨̧̡̡̢̨̢̢͎͓̩͓̰̣͓͕̮̺͇̭͉͎̝̖̟̫͖̘̰̦̮̯̱̰͈̬͓̱̞̦̺͉͎͕̱̹̳̱͎̱̲̫̜̼̮̱̻̼̟̪̼̱͚͈̲̟̖̬̩̫͚̰̗̼͍͈͓̬͇̙̘̮͇̲̤͚͉̣̺͖͍͔͙̣̳̳͈̫̣̫̫̘̝̟̬̗̜̱̟̒͛̆̋̔͘͜͜͠ͅͅͅͅͅḒ̸̡̡̨̢̢̨̡̡̢͍̖͇͙͓͇͖̩̹̠̫̮̭̲̺̳̜̜̜͎̼̫̞̳̠̹̟͉̝̖̱̫̥̱̼̟̤̲̖̟̦̫̮̦̙̘̭̻̲͖͔̱̲͙̤͈̹͖̣̪̩͖͕̲̜̗̬͙̜͖̳͉̼̞̹̭̦̺̪͙͔̥̪̯̞̱͇̖̬̖̣̥̯̠̹̩͖͙̼͙̺̝̮̼̣͕͇̘̦̬̱̬̬̥̤̦̗̣͖͈͇̯̈́̃̊̋͋̈̀̈́̒̈́͒̋́̂͌̈́̑͐͒̿͋̀͐̈́̓̉̓̽͌̅̅͛̈́͛̈͛̽̍̈́̌́͒̓͒͐̇̊͑̍̋̈͗́̌̆̒̐̽̃̆͋͌̐͊͑̚̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅ

"P̶̢̮̤̠̠̩̟͇̈̀̎͒̔͠ͅͅà̷̧̼͔͙̘̲̲̹͛̽̉̎̉̄̒̎͘͜͠ő̵̡̡̳̜͙̯̬̻͆͒̇̽̓̚ļ̸̪̻̲̜̼̤͙̤̪̳̻̋̋̉͗̓̌͋̚ͅa̴̫͑̅̓̌͒͑̀͝͝,̴̙̝̗͓̼̃̃̊́̿̈́͝ ̵̢͚̺͖͍̼̆͆̄͛̋́̍̚R̴̢̞̺̭͕͚͋̎͂́͆̾̿̒͝ ̵̛̦͐̌̅̂̓͋͛́̕U̷̡̨̲̗̼̫̼͈̗͈̜͎̦͒́ ̸̜͇̰̯͛̋̇̅͒͒͛̕̚͘N̴̨̥͙̻̪̯̲̜̰̹̦̏͂̌̓̔́̓̃̆̊̂͝ "




Paola leaps to her paws, panting wildly as her eyes register the sun peeking out of the horizon. Pelt bristling, she whirls around but finds nothing except a lonely crab scuttling back to its hole. "Holy motherfucking shit," she cusses breathlessly, yanking the flask off of her neck and throwing it as far away from her as possible. Her body os trembling, shaking hard enough to make her teeth rattle, and in the end the she-cat curls herself up into the tightest ball possible, shivering and waiting for the boat and whoever it carries to come find her.

ooc. figured i might as well leave it open in case any good-hearted individual wants to come help her and please do help the poor girl, she's terrified out of her wits

[shadow=black,left]PAOLA VASQUEZ[/shadow]

The sound of pawsteps makes her ears twitch, and for a fleeting second, Paola fears that it may be the creature again, coming back to finish her off. She turns, fur beginning to bristle, but quickly relaxes with an audible sigh when she recognizes Seapaw making his approach.

She accepts his gentle nudge with a rumbling purr, still wary but clearly comforted by the presence of a familiar face. At his question, Paola lets out a short, disgruntled huff, candidly answering, "Honestly? That was horrible, why is that a thing? I would have thought it'd be, I don't know, hallucinating something artful, maybe, but no! It was if you took a nightmare and mixed it with a very bad time."

Despite her complaint, a wrinkle of a smile appears on her muzzle, trying to comfort Seapaw and show him that he's still okay, somehow, vaguely—she's a fighter, and she might be scared now but she'll probably end up laughing about it... eventually, possibly, if she finds enough stupid things to distract herself with.

At Michael's sudden appearance, Paola feels even more comfortable, quickly crawling towards the coyote's side and pressing her smaller, shivering form to his side. She ponders his offered reassurance for a moment and nods, but then shakes her head. "It felt real—the woman's voice, it's someone I knew, I just can't..." Paola trails off, unsure how to explain just how familiar the voice had sounded. "I've heard it before, but—but you're right. Maybe the voice is real and I've heard it before, but nobody's here now. It's just the wretched jungle juice."

Despite the admission, a part of her continues to wish that it had been real, a part that she doesn't recognize. She doesn't know how and she doesn't know why, but something in her chest aches at the memory of the voice—aches as if she'd lost something important to her and found it, only to lose it again. Another part of her fears that it might be the last time she'll ever hear the voice again, and she recognizes that it's irrational but she's terrified all the same.

So terrified that, at Devland's arrival, she immediately rushes towards him, quickly wrapping her forearms around his neck and burying her face into his shoulder. "I am now that you're here," she murmurs in a jokingly flirty manner, taking a deep breath before stepping away, but only by a fraction. She's trembling, still, but being surrounded by so many familiar people is enough for her to catch her footing and anchor herself to the present, to the real, to home. "Jungle Juice? 3/10, I don't recommend it."

Then Aphra arrives... and Paola surprisingly lets out a loud albeit breathless laugh, her whole body shaking with each amused sound. "Yes, both of those are true," she concedes, clearly unbothered by the insult but rather agreeing that maybe, possibly, certainly doing the ritual has to be the dumbest thing she's ever done in her life—and that's saying something, given her lifestyle of 'try the idiot thing now, deal with the idiot consequences later.'

The sound of Seapaw's voice catches her attention. She opens her jaws to allay her friend's fears, because really, she won't deny what she is, but the sight of the water streaking out and hurtling towards Aphra is enough to immediately fascinate the teenager. Without second thought, a trembling paw sweeps out to mimick his gesture, but she must have done something wrong, because instead of forming into a fine streak of water, it creates an unsightly globule instead, floating shakily in the air before dropping, accidentally aimed at Seapaw's head. "Seapaw, look out!"