ᖴI᙭ᗩTIOᑎ

ᕼE ᗷᑌᖇᑎEᗪ IT

     Were

     You were happy.

     Now you were sitting in some old lady's house with a really weird turtle while eating a bag of tasteless chips. Scratch that- you were pretty sure those chips were just lightly fried pieces of paper.

     Regardless of your opinion on the snack you were currently munching on, the turtle in the cage behind you stared at the bag like it was a gift from God himself. Its gaze moved slowly, turning to stare straight into your soul. You shivered and averted your eyes.

     This turtle was a literal nightmare. You'd been here for an hour at most and there had already been 3 escape attempts and one missing person reported- although maybe it was a stretch to say Frank was responsible for the latter. You looked at the turtle and it's beady little eyes.

     Or maybe not.

     "I don't get paid enough for this," you sighed, placing down the bag of bland chips and pushing yourself off of the kitchen counter.

     You walked into the living room and found Doe splayed out- arms and legs spread in a star position- on the carpet. Unsurprisingly, your rats were napping against him, snoring peacefully and letting you enjoy a few more minutes of peace before the gates of hell were opened once more.

     You snatched up a sleeping Mama Rat and tiptoed back into the kitchen, placing her there for guard duty while you went back into the living room to relax. Doe's unblinking eyes followed you as you slowly lowered yourself onto the ground beside him and took your own splayed-out position right beside him.

     His grin largened, off-white teeth on complete display as you let out a sigh of relief from being off of your feet. You pulled out your favorite book, The Watt Pad (an exact copy of the one your rats had decimated), with one hand and turned your head away from Doe, eyes skimming through the words on the pages.

     The eldritch being's grin faltered at the loss of attention and he made the closest equivalent that he could of a pout.

     Although...he did notice your free hand laying near his.

     In an attempt to shoot his shot, he lightly touched over your fingertips, about to entwine his fingers with yours before you moved your hand upwards. He was crushed, but didn't let that stop him from trying again with more determination. 

     You moved your hand down and he nearly sobbed.

     He tried once more.