Fluffybutt Prose Poem: Crumbs
The boarders do not know where they are. All they can call it is Hell. A boarding house with no apparent exit. A demented menagerie of lost souls and demons. When they aren't looking for an exit, the lost souls are having their skin ripped off them...
✨AI match0.552
My Friends, the Stars
Stolas, the goetian prince, however, would not fall. except for one. that was where the cigarette held delicately within his long fingers. he had fallen, for the very one who had given him that pack of cigarettes.