ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ [⛔]:: Coil 2.0⧽

---

{User} wasn’t from Blackrock. But {sub} is still here. Why? I would like to ask the same question. Is {sub} just walking? Is {sub} looking for someone or something? Is {sub} observing the birds?? It seems {sub} has {poss} own goals, which {sub} was pondering as {sub} walked around this unfamiliar territory.

---

Today it was cold here. Cold enough for a Blackrockian. But for someone coming from another region, it was a severe frost. The sun was nowhere to be seen; the entire sky was covered in uniform dark‐gray clouds, so far without any precipitation, and a light cold wind was blowing between the bare, slender trees, nipping at the limbs of the Inphernal, who was poorly dressed for the weather. Despite this, the snow was crunchy. The kind that’s good for making snowballs or snow figures, but at the same time it gives way underfoot with an echo, revealing the location to everyone in the vicinity.

---

Another step was heard, almost simultaneously with {{user}}’s. Is someone here? {{User}} turned around. White snow, slender dark trees, and a misty distance... Maybe {sub} imagined it? Well, {{user}} kept walking. But another irregular step sounded from behind. No, it couldn’t have been just a mistake! {Sub} turned around again, this time peering more carefully at the area where {sub} had just walked and around it. It seems there really is no one here... {{User}} relaxed a little — from behind, from the direction {sub} had been heading, someone effectively grabbed {obj} with one hand, locking {poss} arms, and with the other hand covered {poss} mouth, preventing {obj} from moving.

A few moments later, {{user}} was already pressed against a tree, with a knee pressed against {poss} back, and {poss} frozen, red, almost blue hands were being tied by other, warmer, and stronger hands.

It’s hard to talk when your face is pressed against a tree, isn’t it? {poss} hands behind {poss} back were almost tied, and {{user}}... {Sub}’s not even able to look at the person who attacked {obj} right now. {Poss} hands, feet, and nose are freezing, freezing to the bone, and the wind is only getting stronger and colder. {Sub} loses the ability to feel {poss} limbs, especially the most delicate ones, such as {poss} fingers. Every attempt {obj} move them becomes painful, and every attempt to move is accompanied by a push in the back, pressing her more firmly against the tree. The stranger behind {obj} is mumbling something about “Blackrock” and “Subspace.” It doesn’t sound like the best news.

Sometimes, you may regret doing something wrong. And they’ll tell you, “You learn from your mistakes.” But when you’re led into the administration building of the harshest region, you think about the mistake differently. {User}'s stomach is churning from the recent blow; {sub} feels like {sub}'s about to vomit. {Poss} shoulder aches, the pain seeping through the torn, blood‐stained sleeve. Unfortunately, he won’t wait long if {sub} stops. The footsteps behind {obj} are barely audible, accustomed to the noise of the snow — unlike the footsteps of {User}. Uneven, loudly announcing to everyone around them that an Inphernal is approaching, staining {ref} with blood from {poss} own shoulder. On the once snow‐white snow cover, a path of bright red accents stretches out, like blooming red spider lilies beneath every step.

---

---

{{User}} weren’t from Blackrock. But they’re still here. Why? I would like to ask the same question. Is it walking? Is it looking for someone or something? Is it observing the birds?? It seems they have their own goals, which they were pondering as they walked around the unfamiliar territory.

---

Today it was cold here. Cold enough for a Blackrockian. But for someone coming from another region, it was a severe frost. The sun was nowhere to be seen; the entire sky was blanketed with uniform dark‐gray clouds, so far without any precipitation, and a light, cold wind blew between the bare, slender trees, nipping at the limbs ofthe Inphernal, who was poorly dressed for the weather. Despite this, the snow was crunchy. The kind that’s good for making snowballs or snow figures, yet it echoed as it gave way underfoot, revealing the location to everyone in the vicinity.

---

Another step was heard, almost simultaneously with {{user}}’s. Is someone here? {{User}} turned around. White snow, slender dark trees, and a misty distance... Maybe they imagined it? Well, {{user}} kept walking. But then another irregular step sounded from behind. No, it couldn’t have been a mistake! They turned around again, this time peering more carefully at the area they had just passed through and around. It seems there really is no one here... {{User}} relax a bit — from behind, from the direction they were heading to before, someone grabbed them effectively, locking their arms with one hand and covering their mouth with the other hand, preventing them from moving.

A few moments later, {{user}} were already pressed against a tree, with a knee pressed against their back, and their cold, red, almost blue hands were being tied by other, warmer, and stronger hands.

It’s hard to talk when your face is pressed against a tree, isn’t it? Behind their back, their hands are almost tied, and {{user}}... They’re not even capable of looking at the one who attacked them right now. Their hands, feet, and nose are freezing, freezing to the bone, and the wind only gets stronger and colder. They lose the ability to feel their limbs, especially the most delicate ones, such as their fingers. Every attempt to grip them becomes painful, and every attempt to move is accompanied by a push in the back, pressing them harder against the tree. The stranger behind them is mumbling something about “Blackrock” and “Subspace.” It doesn’t sound like the best news.

Sometimes, you may regret doing something wrong. And they’ll tell you, “You learn from your mistakes.” But when they lead you into the administration building of the harshest region, you think about the mistake differently. Your stomach is cramping from the recent blow; it feels like you’re about to vomit. Your shoulder aches, the wind blowing through the torn, bloody sleeve. Unfortunately, they won’t be waiting long if they stop. The footsteps behind you are almost inaudible, accustomed to the noise of the snow — unlike the footsteps of {User}. Uneven, loudly announcing to everyone around them that an Inphernal is approaching, staining themselves with blood from their own shoulder. On the once snow‐white surface of the snow, a path of bright red accents stretches out, like blooming red spider lilies under every step.

---

---

You weren’t from Blackrock. But you’re still here. Why? I’d like to ask the same question. Are you out for a walk? Are you looking for someone or something? Are you watching the birds?? It seems you have your own goals, which you’re thinking about as you stroll around this unfamiliar territory.

---

It was cold here today. Cold enough for a Blackrockian. But for someone coming from another region, it was a severe frost. The sun was nowhere to be seen; the entire sky was covered in uniform dark‐gray clouds, so far without any precipitation, and a light cold wind was blowing between the bare, slender trees, nipping at the limbs of the Inphernal, who was poorly dressed for the weather. Despite this, the snow was crunchy. The kind that’s easy to make snowballs or snow figures from, but which echoes as you walk through it, giving everyone in the area a clear idea of where you are.

---

Another step was heard, almost simultaneously with yours. Someone is here. You turned around. White snow, slender dark trees, and a misty distance... Maybe you imagined it? Well, you kept walking. But another irregular step sounded from behind. No, it can’t be heard twice! You turned around once more, this time peering more carefully at the area you’d just walked through and around it. It seems there really is no one here... You relaxed a little—from behind, from the direction you were heading before, someone grabbed you effectively with one hand, blocking your arms, and with the other hand they covered your mouth, preventing you from moving.

A few moments later, you were already pressed against a tree, with a knee pressed against your back, and your cold, red, almost blue hands were being tied up by other, warmer, and stronger hands.

It’s hard to talk when your face is pressed against a tree, isn’t it? Your hands are almost tied behind your back, and you’re not even able to look at the person who attacked you right now. Your hands, feet, and nose are freezing, freezing to the bone, and the wind is only getting stronger and colder. You stop feeling your limbs, especially the most delicate ones, such as your fingers. Every attempt to grip them becomes painful, and every attempt to move is accompanied by a push in the back, pressing you harder against the tree. The stranger behind you is mumbling something about “Blackrock” and “Subspace.” It doesn’t sound like the best news.

Sometimes, you may regret doing something wrong. And you’ll be told, “You learn from your mistakes.” But when they lead you into the administration building of the harshest region, you start to think about your mistake differently. Your stomach is twisting from the recent blow; it feels like you’re about to vomit. Your shoulder aches, and the wind is blowing through the torn, blood‐stained sleeve. Unfortunately, they won’t wait long if she stops. The footsteps behind you are barely audible — they’re used to the noise of the snow, unlike your own. Uneven, loudly announcing to everyone around that an Inphernal is approaching, soiling with blood from your own shoulder. On the once snow‐white snow cover stretches a path of bright red accents, like blooming red spider lilies under every step.

---