mythopoeics

This again...Hmm...At least I know myself this time.

Hmmm...Theseuuusss? Where are you? My clothes are different. I asked someone where I could get different clothes. No one seemed to have any ideas...

All of my dresses are yellow and red and orange. Who gave me these dresses? Who decided these colors? I think it was meant to torture me. Torture me with colors of daytime when all I want are blues and silvers and dark purples.

Also floral print everywhere. I don't want all these flowers. I have boob flowers...

[She woke to the sound of someone screaming. Normally the suffering of others wasn't something to alarm this queen of hell but with that Greek goddess playing games, the screaming so close and for reasons unknown, Lilith wasn't keen on ignoring it. Or the fact that she didn't feel comfortable. Grasping at blankets that were entirely unlike the ones she had in her home, she sat up and looks around the dark room. This wasn't her bedroom, not even a place she could really recognize. And her clothes were so plain, so drab.

Out of bed, she went for the door and rattled it, fury building in her. When a sharp, raspy voice told her to back off and go back to bed, she pounded her fist against the door. It was only when the thin slot in the door revealed a reed-thin nurse with eyes that promised pain that Lilith knew she needed to step back. Self-preservation and all that. After a few heartbeats and the disappearance of that woman, she retreated to her bed.

The paper journal nearby was easy enough to recognize and she grabbed it, flipping open to a blank page immediately.]

Where the fuck are we now? Where are my clothes, who put me in this fucking room? What game is this now? This isn't Zurvan. I know myself.