A medallion relief sparkles into existence, Magical Girl-style. The Jester's face lands over the rumpled bedsheets of an empty bed colored from white to soft blue by nightfall. It rattles a bit. Ominous indeed...

  "KABOOM!" A room-sized, smile-shaped cloud erupts from the apparent magical grenade.

  All of my eyes blink uncomfortably, doing their best to get rid of the tears and squint through the smoke. I cough like a geriatric geezer. "Hooo..." I wheeze a sigh of relief that soon transitions to "AAAGH." I grin and grimace in equal measure, brows furrowed and lips twitching.

  I'm missing an ARM. A fuckin', frackin' arm.

  My ebony tongue licks my razor sharp maw of needle-teeth. A bunch of slick ivory surfaces overlaid over each other, the tip of my tongue going up, down, up, down. Strangely amusing, like trailing a finger along my school's plaster bricks, the finger going up and down as it falls into the mortar-furrows-whatever-they're-called between them.

  Most happily, I'm teleported (relatively) safe and sound to a safe location: my bedroom.

  I dare not hope... I close all my eyes. Do I reeeally want to break my hope? Is that comforting weight in my lap...?

  Peeking through my one hand's fingers, Facet's curled up on my criss-cross-applesauced (does... does that descriptor even work or does it just sound like kink foreplay...) thighs, tilting its head cutely and completely empty of thought. "My Stars! You're adorable!" My hands run up and down the rigid, neck-ish part of the pointed head.

  I really am more scatterbrained than usual right now. My brain is simply cooked, toasted, so smooth-brained I'd swear it's oiled! I could name it Deep-Fried Plantain and I bet no one would look askance at me. They'd just nod their heads and agree!

  "Hmmm...." A bit of drool escapes my mouth. "Deep-fried plantains..."

  "~Yuuum~" I moan downright musically. I'm so STARS. DAMNED. HUNGRY! I mouth every word fiercely, teeth clattering like the skeleton of a person who starved to death, because I mean it. I don't want deadly Miasma food.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Give me food, or give me food!

  There is no other option!

  I'm missing an arm. Well, missing a fragment of an arm.

  But technicalities, am I right?

  I set up a few cameras, the proper lighting, and set up the right arrangement. Holding out a couple fingers to frame the mess, I nod happily. It's looking snazzy.

  Ah, by the way, I mean the metaphorical mess. In actuality, the setup is quite tidy - mayhaps even classy - but I feel messy on the inside doing this right after escaping. I refuse to make my viewerbase, for monetary reasons (healthcare is expensive, not that I'll ever admit that to him. Granted, he already knows) and emotional reasons (make people worry about me?! Nevah! Stars forbid I do something cruel like that!), wait longer than the few days I've been in there.

  But it is especially wonky 'cause, well, I need some normalcy to calm myself down. If I can check whether filming only shows the illusion of my humanity, that would reassure me greatly.

  "Hello, hello, friends! Tis the Starry Pup, and I'm back!" I look into the camera with a bright grin, my eyes expressing regret. "I apologize for missing the due date, y'all!"

  "The truth is..." I steeple my hands, Leaning forward with a temporarily serious expression, "I may be a Youtuber musician, but I appear to be following the fine tradition of AO3 writers everywhere. Had a bit of accident." My mouth quirks up in knowing and teasing amusement. And like the famous meme, I'm understating it considerably. One word: funerals. "I'm in need of some normalcy in this abnormal world, so let's get some sangin' here," I emphasize in a hokey-pokey accent.

  "Oh! By the way, guys! I have a new instrument! Hold on a moment, let me go get it!" I already had guitar in hand. I just needed time to shapeshift the guitar to something less eldritch and brain-scrambling. Maybe I could rub off some of the miasmic makeup on it and see if that works?

  The crystal guitar - which I still think would be great for bashing in Alexa's face in - especially since I give her...

  Eh, she gets allotted 90% of the blame for killing Wilbur and Helix and 10% of the blame for Betsie. I get 1% for the former, since I wasn't good enough to get to them in time. I got my cheek ripped open and had to deal with measly, mortal concerns like not bleeding out. And definitely 85% for the latter. I wasn't able to convince her to leave The King and myself well enough alone when I should have had the act in the bag!

  A brief snarl overcomes my face. The guitar shifts into what I want as I begin to worry about the people online becoming paranoid that I am taking too long. "Sorry, guys! Took me a bit. Had to tune this bad boy up, but he's a wicked beaut, no? I mean, just look at this drop-dead gorgeous guitar."

  I begin strumming the guitar happily, bobbing my head up and down. Slowly, I piece together strange, spacey warbling. Closing my eyes, the mood sets on me like the sunset of a cruel star.

  Tormented Zone and the real world.