Tears stream down her face, falling onto the blade of her drawn sword with a quiet fzzz as they evaporated from the heat of the flameblood. “How could you betray the team like this?”
No response. They wave their arm, their new wooden flesh, writhing and creaking with an unholy mix of pine, birch, and kudzu.
“Perhaps my last gift to you can be… to make sure you never hurt a friend again. It’s the least I can do on your 255th birthday.”
The bough that replaced what was once a beautiful hand, and hand she cherished… it points to the side of their head. Their ears.
“What? I—oh. I know,” she lowers her sword into the Music Friday stance. “You want the reader to comment with one of their favorite songs they listened to this last week, so your last moments—or perhaps mine—will be listening to some hella sick tunes. And you… you would probably want them to know that they can always celebrate Music Friday in any way that makes their heart sing, simply by posting to the #music friday tag…”
They look directly at you—the reader, who is not there but instead somewhere else—and nod enthusiastically.
