She'd gone to the White Desert many times before the girl with the braids had arrived.
Her first instinct when she'd noticed the encroaching lands in the dreamworld had been to explore them. But immediately upon crossing the threshold, she'd known that these worlds didn't belong to her. The White Desert felt old, older than Poniko's worlds, and they were foreign. She hadn't liked the desert, with its monochrome. She preferred colors. She preferred the pastels of the Shoal. Even the Snow Land was preferable.
Still, it wasn't as if all of the worlds were pleasant. They weren't meant to be; they were tests, even Poniko knew that. So she explored, and she found Monoe and Monoko.
They might have been sisters. Or maybe they were the same person. Either way, Poniko got a sense from them that she hadn't gotten from the the other beings. Not from the snow girl, or the beaked man, or the thing with the quivering jaw deep in the encroaching darkness. Not from the Toriningen, to be sure. Monoe and Monoko felt different. They never spoke to her, probably never could. Poniko didn't even know if they knew that she was there. Monoko stayed in her tunnel and screamed silently and transformed if you came too close, and she always had had Poniko waking up with a start. Her sister, if Monoe was her sister, had a subtler terror to her. Always smiling, that strange Mona Lisa smirk, and always disappearing when you tried to touch her.
Poniko couldn't say how she knew what to call them. They were Monoe and Monoko, the same way that she was Poniko. The same way that Masada was Masada. Only the girl with the braids hadn't yet yielded a name.
Once the girl came and started killing the beaked man and chasing the rare Takofuusen, things changed. The outskirts of the desert changed and red began to run through all the white. If you followed the right paths you'd find the niches the girl had carved, the severed heads and limbs and mutated monsters. If Monoe or Monoko noticed or cared, they gave no indication. They stayed where they had always stayed. Even the girl with the braids couldn't harm them.
The girl's corruption had spread. Poniko retreated to her castle and never saw the White Desert again.
23
dancing in the desert
blowing up the sunshine
She'd gone to the White Desert many times before the girl with the braids had arrived.
Her first instinct when she'd noticed the encroaching lands in the dreamworld had been to explore them. But immediately upon crossing the threshold, she'd known that these worlds didn't belong to her. The White Desert felt old, older than Poniko's worlds, and they were foreign. She hadn't liked the desert, with its monochrome. She preferred colors. She preferred the pastels of the Shoal. Even the Snow Land was preferable.
Still, it wasn't as if all of the worlds were pleasant. They weren't meant to be; they were tests, even Poniko knew that. So she explored, and she found Monoe and Monoko.
They might have been sisters. Or maybe they were the same person. Either way, Poniko got a sense from them that she hadn't gotten from the the other beings. Not from the snow girl, or the beaked man, or the thing with the quivering jaw deep in the encroaching darkness. Not from the Toriningen, to be sure. Monoe and Monoko felt different. They never spoke to her, probably never could. Poniko didn't even know if they knew that she was there. Monoko stayed in her tunnel and screamed silently and transformed if you came too close, and she always had had Poniko waking up with a start. Her sister, if Monoe was her sister, had a subtler terror to her. Always smiling, that strange Mona Lisa smirk, and always disappearing when you tried to touch her.
Poniko couldn't say how she knew what to call them. They were Monoe and Monoko, the same way that she was Poniko. The same way that Masada was Masada. Only the girl with the braids hadn't yet yielded a name.
Once the girl came and started killing the beaked man and chasing the rare Takofuusen, things changed. The outskirts of the desert changed and red began to run through all the white. If you followed the right paths you'd find the niches the girl had carved, the severed heads and limbs and mutated monsters. If Monoe or Monoko noticed or cared, they gave no indication. They stayed where they had always stayed. Even the girl with the braids couldn't harm them.
The girl's corruption had spread. Poniko retreated to her castle and never saw the White Desert again.