I stepped out with my vodka, for a smoke.
Looked back, the ladies danced with dubstep glee.
Contrast the silent yard; I almost choked.
A stifled giggling sound...it wasn't me.
He rose, the boy-shaped silhouette evoked
The Past. Complete with Sepia in shade
His little wonderland the Great Old Oak.
Now lay a Stump. His treehouse I forbade.
I guess that's why she left me after all.
I took a swig, to try forget the fall.

"Excuse me..? Can anyone...can anyone tell me...? Excuse me, SIR."

The lost little duckling waddled around the community markets, scroll in hand and her head held high full of life and adventure---a rare sight to be sure in this sleazy streetcorner. She doubled back to the map with which she had been bamboozled with for thrice the original price, as busybodies and devilmaycares alike bump and bungle past her. There goes her 2nd allowance.

"C'mon Mustika, think! The art district has to be somewhere around here."

From any casual eye who even dared to lurk around this average nobody, they would soon learn of her story and how ordinary and boring it was. Like more than most and less than none of the denizens that enter , she appeared bright-eyed and idealistic; sought fame and fortune in the fabled Town of Sticks. Long since dazzled by the posters and magical moving pictures hoisted and ritualistically promoted around her humble homebound hollow, a flare of creativity was born, willing her to come here. Like so many hapless others.

"Oi. What you got there? Some kind of anim, perhaps."

"Why---y-yes." Mustika managed, clearing her throat endlessly. She turned to the obviously ominous shadow in the alley as she clutched her scroll tighter. This is it, she says. What if it was bad? What if it needed more easing? her inner critic went. She hadn't had time to prepare at all, opting to do more 'tests' as these kids were doing these days. Some say it's more than enough to garner even the slightest of a reputation. And that was pretty important around here.

Carelessly, she unrolled her piece for the man to see. Her cheeks went full blush at the anticipating silence.

"What is this crap."

"E--excuse me?"

"You're not fit to be an artist."

The blobby shadow much to her surprise, lunged forwards. Mustika turned to run but her legs wouldn't obey. The creeping dark spiralled around the cobblestone tiles seeping through every crack then coming up on her like a springloaded cage. She cowered, stuttered incomprehensible, and cringed in fear. They never said it was going to be like this.

"I bet you didn't even spend 5 minutes on this thing..." the voice trailed, echoing around the cage. It shrunk as she did before she could call out his lies, enclosing its jowls upon her self-esteem. Within the cage a dozen voices of malicious discontent and overflowing self-confidence was ready to snuff her out like all the others. "Admit it. You're just some nooby animator with a chip on her shoulder."

"Actually, it wasn't half bad."

Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up from the darkness.

"Well it's not bad. The stiffness isn't even obvious for a beginner...you've reading up on your basics, haven't you? You should work on your form next. Concentrate on the motions instead of what makes them so. Then maybe you'll be able to surpass even the harshest of judgements." The figure began, however faint in his raggly unkempt look. The stranger had a face that looked like it had been through hell and yet even beneath the moonlight it was clear that appearances mattered not. His smile emoted a voice of concern, warm and gentle as it melted the insecurities she once had. The cage fell fading fast as the user fell and clutched his steadily beating chest before disappearing into the wind.

She stepped forward, speechless.

"Are you alright, miss?" her savior proclaimed. "Please, don't listen to those asshats. They have no idea what they're talking about."

"I..." With the feeling of despair gone and confidence taking over, Mustika glanced at him, sizing him up from head to toe. It was for a moment, a rarity these days to find such a person. Completely honest and witty, devoid of hatred. She wasn't expecting him and yet he came.

"...I've found you. Arch-Angel."

He came like they said he would.

"How do you know my---AAAAGH!"

It was so sudden. Like a light step or a dash. But the hero didn't see it coming. Mustika had stepped in his ranged and jammed a jagged piece of green glass directly into his sternum. He staggered back, clutching his chest as the infernal foreign object wormed its way deeper and deeper into his very being. "What---are---you---DOING---to---" He struggled with each word as he fell on one knee and his mind flashed images of unknown thoughts. Streams. Nightmares. Flashes of light.

They're coming for us, Arch. You should go. I'll hold em off...

Sorry, luv. But these things happen...

Arch-Angel, for crimes against Stickpage I hereby...

I WONT FORGET THIS YOU PLEBES!!

Lines and lines of endless streams, both spoken and heard. The air around him started to swell and circle. Seasons unending in retrospect. It was raining in one minute, then it wasn't. It was all these events in what had to be years all happening in the blink of an eye as the shard finally punctured all the way and disappeared from within his soul.

And there he lay, half-lucid. Prone to the floor like a dying animal. Not a single breath wasted on his recovery. The memories had finally caught up to him, filling his mind with much turmoil and tenacity. A mere thought escapes his quivering lips.

"Devour. I'm gonna kill that fucking traitor."