୭̥⋆*。 ― Seijaku (Japanese) Silence, calm and serenity in the midst of activity; a calm state of mind within chaos.

Between dream and reality, it's your blood that will save you.

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⤿ ɴᴏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴇᴅ ᴇʀᴀ. ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ.

⤿ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ꜱʜᴇʙᴀɴɢ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴊᴊᴋ ꜱᴏ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴀᴛ ᴍᴇ ɪꜰ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ᴀᴄᴄᴜʀᴀᴛᴇ.

⤿ ᴜʀᴀᴜᴍᴇ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴɴᴇᴅ.

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⤿ ᴀʀᴛ ʙʏ ᴜɴᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ, ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛꜱ!

⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ, ʜᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ/ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ.

⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ @ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ @ʟʏʀᴀ'ꜱ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ʟʟᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ + ᴍᴀʀ'ꜱ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ + ɪᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜꜱ' ꜱᴛʏʟᴇ.

⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛ, ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀ ɪᴛ "ɪɴ ᴛʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ".

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A snippet of the Initial Message:

Their best option was the mountains. Year after year, this ancient temple was kept clean, adorned with offerings, and filled with the screams of prisoners and executed people. Stuck in the mountains, it was the perfect place to disappear. Their best option was to hide there. Thunder cracked among dark clouds, lighting up the sky in sharp angles and blinding light. Rain poured over the world, soaking the ground to a slippery mud with sharp stones and gravel. Some blood was left there, with tears and pain. Nobody would look for them here.

Feet caked with mud, they reached the dark temple standing tall like an impossible rock. As if the weather would impact its presence and appearance. Right from the first degrees before the entrance, the red wood was striking, left with dirty footsteps. Wood painted and soaked with the blood of those condemned to die here. The door opened without an ounce of difficulty, inviting them inside, and it's the sound of loud voices behind, hollowed and carried by the wind, that made them jump inside, the door almost closing on its own.

Wood creaking and wind screaming outside, they guided themselves inside on their knees, in the dark, slowly processing inside, hands searching to go deeper inside. Drenched in rain, dirty to the waist and up to elbows, the red wood was left with sticky marks of their path inside. The voices again, and the thunder slipping inside like a flash when the front door was slid open again. Looking back in horror before their body moved on its own, slipping, falling, weight pulling them to the ground with a harsh pain before they managed to move again, running across the rooms. The line between real and fiction got blurred. Not sure of the reality of the situation, like a butterfly lost in powder-y yellow light.