Porcupine Ridge seven spider eyes, for every day of the week [mtr.]

*screams*

motionless; it could have been hours or mere minutes, time had slipped from her grasp the moment she had settled on the precariously steep rise of one of the teeth that glared down on her home. her body did not shiver nor twitch in the oncoming gloom despite the frigid air settling deep into her bones and the sky threatening another onslaught of snow. she herself could be mistaken for a mound of the chilling substance, or, if one peered closely enough, the dead form of one who'd succumbed to its frosty bite. yet the faintest rise and fall of her chest expelling that little flicker of warmth would betray her real status as one of the living. 

eyes; darker than the shadiest night in the current gloom; rest unseeingly upon the vale. from here it was just a soft blur, or perhaps it was just her eyes unwillingness to focus. she didn't want to focus on anything, she didn't even wish to think. yet her stupid, stupid mind refused to be silenced! the more she wished it would the more it seemed to clamour in response. an inner wince, ignoring the want to let ears flatten tighter against her skull for there was no point; why waste any energy on such a fruitless movement. nothing would ever shut these thoughts up, she would have to listen to them forever. there is something darkly terrifying about that, silence was a hoax. one could never truly find it as long as they lived, it just never appeared to be noticeable until the noise that accompanied you everywhere wasn't what you wanted to hear. then it was suddenly extremely obvious. 

perhaps if she never left this spot, could she do it? remain as still as the earth itself until everything would begin to dim and the noise would get softer and softer...until nothing. she truly would be as stilled as the lifeless substances surrounding her. yet no, her mind was too wired to accept such a fate. it would never grant its host such a wish.

she almost sighs but it never makes it to the surface, lost somewhere in the abyss of her soul before meeting the real world. lucky it, the real world was not all it was made out to be. 

she does not hear the soft movements of her shadowed obsession, oblivious to the proximity of the one thing that could perhaps spark something within what had grown so dull. all she could hear was that stupid noise.