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PouchWhat strange things the blood witch had found. She had come to a house, it was haunted and bound. She moved through the doorway, and made herself known. A strange box device, in the midst of the home. What was it? She wondered, and watched someone else first. A weird little game, and eyeball that was cursed. Skeletal hands did flip the eye back and forth. How exciting, she mused, and turned to the box. The previous player, had gotten off of the blocks. The Maido stepped up, brought herself forward to the game. Whatever it was, it seemed not hostile, but tame.
She touched at the box, and found all the buttons. How odd, she supposed, and daydreamed of muffins. Cake sounded lovely, or Tiramisu. Truth be told, any old dessert would truly do. She clicked at the game, would it bring her fame? Misfortune? A curse? What was even her name? It had been so long, that she couldn't remember. What year was it? She wondered, she stroked the game's tinder. A sickly eye popped, and oozed onto the board. Skeletal hands enveloped in a hoard. She pushed at the buttons, and bounced the ball up. With any luck, she'd get a high score, and shoot the ball to the cup. What a joy, she thought, this machine should be bought. Perhaps in her new house, she would get one wrought.
So odd and yet pleasing, yet covered in dust. For a moment she paused, and examined the rust. She wiped it off quickly, and resumed her play. Indeed, to Maido, this game was well made. She'd seen nothing like it, that much was true. Oh well, what else was there better for her to do? She slammed at the buttons, and continued the game. Would she win? Would she lose? Was it chance? Was it maimed? How could she know? She did one final blow. The game had now ended. Her score? Was it woe?
She touched at the box, and found all the buttons. How odd, she supposed, and daydreamed of muffins. Cake sounded lovely, or Tiramisu. Truth be told, any old dessert would truly do. She clicked at the game, would it bring her fame? Misfortune? A curse? What was even her name? It had been so long, that she couldn't remember. What year was it? She wondered, she stroked the game's tinder. A sickly eye popped, and oozed onto the board. Skeletal hands enveloped in a hoard. She pushed at the buttons, and bounced the ball up. With any luck, she'd get a high score, and shoot the ball to the cup. What a joy, she thought, this machine should be bought. Perhaps in her new house, she would get one wrought.
So odd and yet pleasing, yet covered in dust. For a moment she paused, and examined the rust. She wiped it off quickly, and resumed her play. Indeed, to Maido, this game was well made. She'd seen nothing like it, that much was true. Oh well, what else was there better for her to do? She slammed at the buttons, and continued the game. Would she win? Would she lose? Was it chance? Was it maimed? How could she know? She did one final blow. The game had now ended. Her score? Was it woe?
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