Eyeliner

The tape presents a beautiful gradient gaoler. Her fur seems to glimmer through the old paper. But there’s something with the tape. It may be perhaps hard to grasp. Maybe you can’t focus? Whatever is happening, every time you try to pick up the tape, it slips. You resort to biting it lightly, and finally put it in. There’s a lot of crackling, before the recorder asks questions, and the responder gives a raspy voice, almost as if they were on their death bed.

How does it feel being the daughter of an arsonist?
How depressed are you?
Are you a goth?
Let me guess, the entire world is against you and all of that stuff.

Ugh, go away. They won’t leave me alone. Mind if you do the same? sɪɢʜ. I prefer being called Eyeliner, for Plaguebringer’s sake. I was named something else at birth, but with all the nicknames, this one seems to have grown on me most. No, i’m not a goth. I feel burdened. Why was I even chosen, out of the entire lair, to have eternal youth? Now I look even more edgier, and pretty soon the nicknames will be coming back again. I have a perfectly fine life. I like drawing, I like hunting, I like doing normal, happy dragon things- you aren’t recording this, are you? What’s that you’re holding?

There’s crashing, and crumbling, and she proceeds to spit swears at the recorder before the tape cuts.