Bearclaw Valley some kind of plastic i could wrap around you

hellooo. can we forward-date this to the 21st?

New names, new faces, they clutch at his coattails. In his short and feverish dreams, Taylor sees them along with his brother. They stare at him whereever he goes, oil portraits with moving eyes in a hotel of endless halls.
This is the only way he can remember them.
It is in this way, half-asleep, that he comes across a girl. If he thought Merrick was ominous, this girl was Lovecraftian. Like the dark, turbid afterimage you get after staring at the sun for too long. More ghost than girl.
He approaches her with halting, awkward steps, head tilted in a way that supported both his fatigue and his hearing. His face is unreadable.