Glammy
idk what to put here
- Joined
- Nov 25, 2024
- Messages
- 11,101
- Time Online
- 19d 16h
- Reputation
- 38,315
- Guild
- Third Commander Of The Dreamhouse Cult ~
i didn’t even pack. she told me not to.
“they don’t care what you bring,” she said.
the flight felt normal at first.
until i realized the pilot wasn’t speaking, and she kept humming this slow, low song like she was trying to drown something out.
we landed on water.
not at an airport — just near a dock with peeling paint and a dead silence.
i asked where we were.
she said,
“his island. the one no one talks about anymore.”
i laughed a little.
she didn’t.
the place felt frozen in time.
empty villas, clean halls, untouched wine glasses on the table like someone left mid-conversation and never came back.
it didn’t feel haunted.
it felt watched.
then she took me somewhere deeper inside the island — a place i wasn’t supposed to see.
and that’s when i met him.
not the monster i expected, but a man with cold eyes, calm and unsettling.
he said nothing. just stared.
then, before i could react, he touched my arm.
just a brief touch, but enough to freeze me.
in that silence, i understood what pompom meant when she said obsession rots.
i asked her why she brought me there.
she said,
“you talk a lot about fixing your face. i wanted you to see what obsession really looks like when it rots.”
she left me alone for three days.
no signal. no mirrors.
just notebooks from guests who were never named, all of them rating themselves in percentages and ratios until their handwriting stopped.
when she came back, she asked if i was ready to leave.
i said yes.
she asked if i still cared about my jawline.
i didn’t answer.
the plane ride home was silent.
she didn’t say goodbye.
“they don’t care what you bring,” she said.
the flight felt normal at first.
until i realized the pilot wasn’t speaking, and she kept humming this slow, low song like she was trying to drown something out.
we landed on water.
not at an airport — just near a dock with peeling paint and a dead silence.
i asked where we were.
she said,
“his island. the one no one talks about anymore.”
i laughed a little.
she didn’t.
the place felt frozen in time.
empty villas, clean halls, untouched wine glasses on the table like someone left mid-conversation and never came back.
it didn’t feel haunted.
it felt watched.
then she took me somewhere deeper inside the island — a place i wasn’t supposed to see.
and that’s when i met him.
not the monster i expected, but a man with cold eyes, calm and unsettling.
he said nothing. just stared.
then, before i could react, he touched my arm.
just a brief touch, but enough to freeze me.
in that silence, i understood what pompom meant when she said obsession rots.
i asked her why she brought me there.
she said,
“you talk a lot about fixing your face. i wanted you to see what obsession really looks like when it rots.”
she left me alone for three days.
no signal. no mirrors.
just notebooks from guests who were never named, all of them rating themselves in percentages and ratios until their handwriting stopped.
when she came back, she asked if i was ready to leave.
i said yes.
she asked if i still cared about my jawline.
i didn’t answer.
the plane ride home was silent.
she didn’t say goodbye.
