JERICHO ● SEPTEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: JERICHO

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Prologue: New Characters

You've been plagued with a reoccuring dream, as of late. Every time you sleep, the dream returns to you.

It always begins the same way: As a breath held for too long. As a pressure at the base of your spine. A silence that presses against the skin like confession, like prophecy. A ripple moves through your bones. A tide builds and pulls at your feet, familiar by now. You dream of a black, soundless wave, thick like oil and starlight, swelling across the horizon line. You've seen the wave before, countless times, always rising. With every night, it never reaches you. You always seem to wake before it does . . . That is, until tonight.

The wave moves slow, deliberate— like something ancient and alive. And when it finally crashes, there is no harsh impact. Only warmth. Only submersion. Rather than drowning, you are being claimed with saltwater that's sweet with myrrh. The darkness embracing you pulses with desire. Then, a voice envelops you.

"Come home."
It dribbles with honey-like promise, like a truth you've always known, whispered now from within your marrow more like temptation than a request.

"You are mine. You always were."
The voice offers purpose. Worship. Belonging. And when you wake . . . You wake changed, with a mask on your face you did not choose. Elegant. Sacred. Too important to remove. You have been given a gift. A new beginning.

Welcome home, new Vessels.

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Sink Down Like Precious Stones

( content warnings: drowning, body horror )

Vessels awaken within the dreamscape as the black wave recedes from their skin like velvet falling off the bone, their masks in place over their eyes and left afloat in the watery expanse. All around them, the ocean stretches infinite and lightless— so still it mirrors the sky above, indistinguishable from the void. Far in the distance, massive obsidian walls curve inward, enclosing this vast seascape like a forgotten temple basin. And there, at the far horizon, one glow pierces the dark: a low-burning fire flickering within a half-sunken structure of impossible architecture— arched, ribbed, as though built from marble and cathedral glass.

This is a test, and it begins with belief.

Those with unwavering faith— whether in Sleep, another god, or even themselves— will find the surface beneath their feet holds firm. The sea becomes glass, and they may rise, and walk. But those adrift in doubt begin to sink. Precious stone creeps over their skin. Joints stiffen. Flesh cracks. Breath slows. It is not death, but it is close and might as well be hell. Your only salvation lies in your own conviction . . . Or the mercy of another Vessel who happens to walk.

Those who drown will not die. They will loop this moment— sinking, blackness, return, sink again— until belief takes root in some way. Alternatively, they may awaken in a later dreamspace . . . Changed.

NOTES:

• Pale white fish as well as glowing jellyfish may be encounted. The fish stare at vessels as they drown, and jellyfish may leave behind a shock that could temporarily stop the process of crystalization. But only temporarily— and their stings are excrutiating.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Magic becomes volatile— spells flicker, overcharge, or fizzle unpredictably when cast on or near the ocean.
• When you cast, your veins glow from beneath the skin, but not with light. It's writhing. Like something trapped under glass.
• When channeling magic, your mouth may fill with brine and blood.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• The water responds emotionally— thrashing with fury or calming with yearning depending on the Offering's state of mind.
• The sea amplifies desire and instinct, making base emotions harder to suppress— rage, hunger, longing all churn just beneath the surface.
• The black water feels too warm, too alive, clinging to the body like memory; any stillness invites visions of Sleep's embrace, both reverent and consuming.

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You Taste Like New Flesh

( content warnings: body horror, psychological horror, compulsion, unreliable reality )

The ocean path ends at a palace carved of pearl and spun silk, impossibly perched where water meets nothingness. Whether you have traversed the black sea on trembling feet or simply awaken seated at an impossibly long table, it makes no difference. You are here now, and welcomed, suddenly in attire fit for a gala. Around this table sit countless Dream-Vessels, many silent and still, faces unreadable in the flickering candlelight wearing generic, six-eyed masks. The table stretches beyond sight, arching beneath creeping vines that twist like ancient veins overhead, blooming with strange blossoms that beat with energy. Flames dance atop dozens of candles— some burn on brass holders, others hover, like fireflies caught mid-flight, their shadows flickering and shifting with an otherworldly rhythm. Around you, phantasmal forms shimmer on pedestals: Sleep's ancient Guardians are eternalized through memorial, monstrous and magnificent, lost to time yet enshrined in reverence. On the highest pedestal stands a still living One, silent and watching the feast with somber eyes. Sleep's voice whispers in your ear, encouraging a glance to, perhaps, see what you may become.

"Feast, My Dear Vessels. Until you taste like New Flesh."

The foods before you don not come unmeddled with. Each bite pulls memories from your bones to the surface— moments buried or erased, but these are not just yours. The banquet feeds on shared history, stirring secrets tangled between you and the others here. To eat is to open a door: to risk awakening something dormant, to invite others inside your buried truths, to forge bonds or betrayals that can never be unseen.

Eton Mess: Crushed meringue, tangled cream, and berries that bleed like bruises when bitten. Sweetness melts quickly, leaving your tongue cold. As you eat, a memory rises— but you don't experience it alone. The person nearest you sees what you see, hears what you hear, feels what you felt. Together, you can alter one key detail, and that change ripples outward, shifting how you both remember the event.

Deviled Kidneys: Spiced and seared, the metallic richness clings to your mouth, as if tasting old blood. Eating summons the echo of a painful or violent memory, but your partner experiences it with you.

Roasted Lamb in Mint Sauce: The sweetness of the meat is cut by mint sharp enough to sting the throat. Your act of consumption awakens a craving, but not in you— in the Vessel sharing this dish. They feel an inexorable pull toward your memory, even without knowing what they seek. The bond persists until the craving is confronted.

Honey Scouse: A thick, golden stew heavy with warmth, but beneath the sweetness, something cloying curls around the edges. Every shared spoonful spreads a slow, creeping influence between you and your partner: intrusive visions, subtle compulsions, small lapses in agency. Neither of you can tell whose thoughts belong to whom.

Starpit Fruit: Plum-sized and faintly glowing, the juice leaves your fingertips dusted in silver, like handling starlight. When bitten, the fruit releases the memory of a forgotten wish, not to you but to the person beside you. They see it clearly— and know exactly what you once wanted most, even if you had buried it.

Marigold Brandy: A golden spirit served warm, glowing faintly as though sunlight has been trapped inside the glass. When lifted, it releases a soft, floral scent. The first sip draws you and your partner into a shared burst of joy— a memory that makes you swell with happiness. The sensation is so immediate, so electric, that when the memory breaks, your bodies ache to move, to speak, to draw more positivity to light. You may feel an irresistible pull to get up and dance on the wide palace floors, even if no music is playing . . . And if others nearby drink as well, the effect multiplies.

Saints Breath Chalice: A dark, wine-thick cordial served in tarnished silver cups etched with symbols that shift when stared at too long. The liquid smells faintly of frankincense and something sweeter— blood-warm and alive. Drinking it floods you and your partner with the overwhelming sensation of being inside someone else's celebration, a memory that belongs to neither of you: a vast mass of black, with branching antlers and six, glowing red eyes. It reaches to sink its claws into your chest as she sings: One. Beloved. We were meant to be. It is impossible to tell whether you're witnessing joy or manic worship. There is chanting you cannot understand but somehow already know, drums that sync with your heartbeat until you can feel nothing else. Your limbs begin to twitch, then sway, then move without conscious thought, drawn into a dance you do not remember learning. If more than two people drink, your movements synchronize perfectly, your breath matching theirs, until the room seems stop to watch.

The table awaits.

NOTES:

• Feasting becomes addictive. The more a character eats, the harder it is to stop. Gluttony may cause physical consequences: nosebleeds, twitching fingers, warping speech, uncontrollable confessions, or dripping nectar from their mouths.
• Those who refuse to eat at all begin to starve in a dream-sense: they lose color, smell burning, and feel the weight of Sleep's gaze. Her wrath isn't immediate— but it grows the longer you reject the feast. She takes offense.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Each spell cast after eating releases parasitic energy— manifesting as flowers, thorns, parasitic insects or rot— either from their own body or from someone they recently touched.
• Casting warps your limbs temporarily: too many joints, fingers curl the wrong way, nerves burn like wires.
• Touching others leaves sigils burned into their skin. These will briefly carry over into the waking world during next month's event. Runecasters will get the innate feeling that this symbol has a meaning summed up as "The Night Does Not Belong To God". How they interpret that is up to them.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• The act of devouring awakens an overwhelming desire, often physical, but sometimes emotional or spiritual. This desire clings to another Vessel at the table, creating obsessive attachment or aggression.
• The more they eat, the more their monstrous traits subtly emerge.
• Consuming another Vessel's memory (if shared or touched) grants a brief glimpse of their deepest fear or weakness.

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There's Something In The Way You Lay

( content warnings: sexual content, voyeurism, body modification, omegaverse traits, loss of agency )

Beneath its pearlescent halls, beyond the banquet of flickering candles and dream-Vessels who eat in hollow silence, a spiral staircase winds downward. Its steps are damp and velvet-slick. The further you descend, the warmer the air becomes— humid, cloying, thick with the scent of sweat, salt, and incense. The sounds reach you first: Slaps, gasps, the wet chorus of bodies and perverse intimacy. Laughter, muffled sobs, the echo of whispered names long forgotten. At the base lies a corridor of "private" rooms. Their doors swing open with dreamlike invitation. Inside, the scenes unfold: past dream-Vessels lost in tableau— arched backs, bitten lips, mouths open in prayer or obedience. Some are alone, coiled in worship. Others tangle in groups, indistinguishable where one body ends and another begins. Vines bloom across the ceilings, watching. The walls glisten with breath. You see their faces, but you can't quite distinguish what or who they are. You may not remember choosing a role, but the dream has chosen for you. α or Ω— and with the naming, your body changes. There is no shame here, only devotion made manifest. This is how Sleep is worshipped now: through cruelty and surrender, through the giving and the taking of flesh.

NOTES

• Masks may optionally offer a sort of glamour for Vessels who wander into these chambers— they will not be able to recognize each other. How much of that, whether it be appearance, voice, and so on, is up to you.
• Past dream-Vessels perform for no one, eyes vacant, movements perfect, as if only a ghost of a memory. Player characters may interact with them and even partake in intimacy with them, but be warned: they are emotionally absent and may cause symptoms of succumbence that could be remedied with a proper, player-character tether.
• Tools hang on the walls: Rods of all sizes, slick with heat. Collars that hum with low, seductive voltage. Blindfolds that intensify physical contact, There's no need for cuffs or chains when there are vines that seem to respond to the α party's mood— tightening, flowering, or reaching for skin. You are free to come up with your own items.
• α perks:: Instinctive claiming (done through biting, rubbing, branding, etc), an almost predatory focus and obsession for those who interest them, pack gravity (the ability to attract one or more vessels at once), emitting a scent that ignites heat/rut in others, darker urges surge and a commanding voice.
Ω perks: High pain tolerance, instinctive yielding, emotional synchrony with those being watched, self-lubricating, hypersensitive, scent tracking, intense need to please or be filled emotionally, physically, and spiritually. When touched, glowing runes bloom across the skin.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Spells cast during acts of intimacy may provoke a heightened sensation of euphoria for both caster and whoever is affected by the spell.
• Magic may manifest as misty appendages— extra hands, tongues, eyes, etc.
• Divine energy becomes volatile when passed through the body— ecstasy may border on agony, or vice versa, and Tethering becomes impossibly euphoric.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• Flesh becomes malleable mid-act— bones bending, jaws unhinging, skin blooming open, etc.
• Animalistic traits emerge: tails, claws, growls, tentacles, scent glands— all begging to be used.
• Feeding and Tethering are indistinguishable— hunger becomes worship, and worship becomes need.

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I am not worthy

( content warnings: body horror, violence, gore, parasitic/invasive feeding, death )

Wherever you are, the palace begins to rot. First slowly, then all at once: vines swell with black fluid, splitting at the seams. They burst from beneath marble tiles, coil up pillars, slither across frames and vacant thrones like arteries choking a heart. The candlelight flickers. One by one, the flames throughout the palace float upward . . . And die. No smoke. No warning. Just wet silence. Then the Dream-Vessels begin to fall. They do not scream as they do. They collapse like marionettes, limbs askew. Their flesh splits open along wounds that should not exist— a rip at the neck, teeth marks prying open the ribcage, a bite that swallows half a torso. Bones jut like sculpted ivory. Entrails slither across the floor like garlands. Some burst mid-air, as if the dream demands spectacle. Others fold in on themselves until all that's left of them is a mound of flesh.

"I am not worthy."

One voice. Ten. A thousand—layered, glitching, sweaty. It echoes from the walls, the bodies, the seams in the floor. The corpses twitch in time with the chant, jerking violently. Some snap backwards, eyes wide, jaws unhinged. Others explode— blossoming in gore, raining viscera. From the heaving pile of ruined Dream-Vessels, something forms.

It lurches into being: stitched from tongues, teeth, torsos. Weeping. Wailing. Worshipping. A monstrosity of raw flesh and faith: all failures made meat. Its eyes (are they eyes?) blink out. Arms claw outwards, too many to count. Its scent is of copper, sweat, and sorrow.

When The Abomination chooses to feed, it seeks not flesh, but the softest rot inside you. An appendage uncoils from its writhing mass and unhinged jaw— veined, slick, and trembling like a violated root. It drives itself into your mouth, splitting your lips with obscene tenderness, and sinks deep into your throat, locking you still.

What it draws out is not blood. It siphons your doubts, your fears, your most secret self-hatred. Your inadequacy. Every buried shame. Your hate. Your negativity. Every flinch of unworthiness. Every moment you believed yourself unlovable, unseen, too small. It gorges on what you hide from even yourself, and the more you try to resist, the sweeter your sorrow becomes. The last thing it takes is your life force, and then your viscera, leaving you wilted and shrivled like a hollow log.

This death is violating and feels painfully slow. You're drained raw of your vitality until you're but a brittle husk that breaks to dust in the wind. It seems near impossible to destroy, always reforming into bits and pieces left smudged behind. Perhaps your best bet it to run, or attempt to wake yourself up from this nightmare.

One's voice repeats in choked sobs: I am not worthy.

NOTES:

• Wounds from the beast linger. You may wake bleeding or marked.
• If devoured, characters will awaken the following month extremely fatigued during the first 3-5 days of the month. They may also sporadically rigurgitate black sludge. Characters who die and are already in the game may requesta plot clue, that will be a vision your character will dream of before awakening.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Magic recoils violently when used on The Abomination, backfiring with psychic screams or ripping into your flesh.
• Your hands glow uncontrollably, burning what you touch— even those you love.
• Magic becomes hungry; it demands pieces of your body to function. A tooth. A nail. A rib (and so on).

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The rage it stirs in you is monstrous. You begin to shift uncontrollably— flesh blooms, bones crack under strain.
• Your body begins moving before you decide to. Twitching toward The Abomination, and toward the scent of despair.
• During the chaos, you may develop a fixation with another Vessel's flaw. You can smell it on them. It entrances you . . . To the point that you may feel the urge to feed them to The Abomination.

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OOC NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's second TDM, which doubles as our third gamewide event!

➤ This TDM is considered game canon. You are free to have your character remember as many details as possible.

➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible. Current characters must remain as their chosen Vessel type unless you requested a switch, which can be done on the Taken page.

➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!

➤ Veteran players, I ask to please refrain from making post-event threads for the time being! We have some important information to take into account in next month's event when characters are slated to "wake up". At the very least, please wait for the information to be offered on the next plotting post. Thank you everyone for your patience!

➤ Please comment on the TDM's INVITE TL if you are a new player interested in joining the game, but don't yet have an invite. Current players or the mod may reach out to extend an invite. Once you've got one, please don't forget to comment on the Invite page so you may properly link it in your reserve and app.

➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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Comments

[goty]

[Her hand moves away on its own, quick like she's touched something hot. The memory of her skin as sludge, oozing between her fingers-- she shivers. And she'd always been afraid of dying in the cold.]

How- how did you-... [What little sense she has catches up with her. Her affect becomes flat, losing emotion; the presentation of a young veteran.] Sorry. None of my fuckin' business.

[vocalistyodels]

[There's definitely something haunting about her eyes and it's not what she saw from his memories. Course he can't claim to know or understand what that could be, but he knows someone who's seen a lot of pain and probably caused it.

He'd say she looks too young for that, but where he's from? Starts real early for most folks, no real choice.]

Not wrong, ain't your business.

[There's a 'but' that hangs there for a second and he continues.]

Not any real how or why to it. Some folks just don't die, others do. If you're lucky you can stick round real long once you look like me.

[Lucky. Yep.]

You can imagine it comes with it's ups and downs, course.

[goty]

[Is that really lucky? But it is, once she thinks about it. Once upon a time, she would have said that out loud. Now she just thinks of twitching, fruiting bodies. At least this guy kept his eyes.]

Yeah... I guess. I mean, you'd know. What'm I gonna do, correct you?

[She heaves a sigh.] I'm, uh, I'm Ellie.

[vocalistyodels]

You could, everyone's got their opinions, lots got opinions bout folk like me.

[Ghouls. Honestly a waste of their breath as far as he's concerned, but that's people's choice to waste oxygen.]

Well Ms. Ellie, welcome to the party. I'd say enjoy, but seems everything comes with a price here.

[Laying out your memories for people to see. He's getting pretty sick of that shit.]

[goty]

[A creeping sense of familiarity sets in. This man is nothing like Joel-- Joel would never invite comment about himself, and shut down any attempts to understand his past-- but he is a gruff older man. Ellie's spent her life around that type. It's comfortable, almost.]

I can eat something, and you can see how fucked up my childhood was. [It's a joke. It's an apology. She doesn't touch the food.] Even Stevens.

[vocalistyodels]

[He's definitely a lot like Joel and while he does invite some comments in about himself, it's typically shit that is what it is. Now if people go digging too deep well, that's when he clams up. It's bad enough more than a handful of people know about his daughter. That's something he keeps buried deep in his chest. Pulling it out for just the right people, the people with the answer to the question he wants to know.

Place like this makes it hard to keep that to yourself though.]

Go right ahead if you like show and tell.

[He waves at the spread of food, even though it's fairly obvious she had no intentions. At least not at the moment.]

I'd grab a plate and find a nice corner away from everyone personally. Some shit best kept to ourselves.

[Says the ghoul who's not taken his own advice. He'd never say he's not a hypocrite.]

link warning: gun violence, attempted drowning.

[goty]

[Ellie has always been impulsive, even as she's grown older and decided she's overcome it. Something about the way he says it, clearly not believing she's going to, makes her have to do it. At random, Ellie grabs a lump of food and shoves it into her mouth.]

[A dingy hotel. A man drowning. Ellie sees the gun, grabs it, and saves Joel's life. He's ungrateful, scornful, and Ellie feels rage and disgust bubble past the surface of her patience.] How about, "hey, Ellie, I know it wasn't easy, but it was either him or me, thanks for saving my ass"? You got anything like that for me, Joel?

[He rebuffs her. They keep walking. In the present, Ellie leans against the wall, embarrassed. That was private. That was stupid.]

[vocalistyodels]

[The girl is still Ellie, the voice is the same, but younger. She's just a kid.

The violence isn't uncommon where he's from, child or adult alike. From what he can see of the surroundings he wouldn't be surprised if it was normal where she's from too. People killing each other for any scraps they can get off one another.]

Was a good shot.

[Is what Cooper finally says once the memories feel less like they're his own again.]

Clean, did the job quick.

[Joel may have been upset with her, but she'd saved his life. No doubt she did because being that young alone would be worse than not having him with her. Also maybe he was her dad? Calling him by his first name didn't mean he wasn't. Could be a rocky relationship. Though Cooper can see it from Joel's side too... if that were him and Janey he wouldn't want her getting her hands dirty like that. Or maybe, the old Cooper wouldn't have.]

... food's not bad eh?

[Said with more humor to it.]

[goty]

[She had, all over the course of that year, dreamed desperately of hearing what this man has given her. Praise, reassurance. Any sign that she'd done well. Anything would have worked, but she only got it after she killed David. That bloody, desperate, violent murder. Even then, Joel knew what she was good for.]

[It makes her head spin, sometimes, thinking how much time she wasted.]

Food fucking sucks. [She rubs at her face.] Can't tell if it's people or not.

[Like Joel, she ignores what she can't deal with. The praises is too much. She folds it up in her memory and hides it away.]

CW: mention of cannibalism, yay

[vocalistyodels]

S'not.

[Cooper is very quick to reply. Matter of fact even.]

Ain't the right texture.

[To most people they probably wouldn't even be able to tell the difference, but he's had to... indulge enough times that he can suss it out even if someone were trying to hide the fact. Though he guesses in this dream place it could be anything and he'd never know. Does it even really matter?]

[goty]

[A swell of emotion flares between Ellie's lungs, and she feels it and has no idea what to do with it. It shows on her face-- a mix of disgust and confusion, horror and curiosity.]

You mean, you- you know?

[vocalistyodels]

Been round a long time, sweetie. Get the feeling our situations ain't so different.

[Maybe not exactly the same, but clearly something wasn't "right" where Ellie was from either.]

Sometimes... things get a little desperate.

[goty]

[Here, now, the revulsion is obvious. Ellie shivers.]

I'd- I'd rather die. [The way she says it, it's almost a challenge.]

[vocalistyodels]

[There's a little twitch to his lips, not quite a smile. A lot of people say that until they get to that point of desperation.

But he doesn't know her, maybe she fight that kind of hunger. Who can say?]

Fair enough, but some of us got reasons to keep living.

[And as far as he's concerned he'll do almost anything to keep doing just that.]

[goty]

[She flicks her wrist toward him, a dismissive gesture.] You do you, man.

[Though giving a cannibal absolution gives her pause. She hesitates.] I knew people who... they did it on purpose. They said it was to survive, but it wasn't. He just wanted power.

[She wouldn't normally be this open about things from her past, but this guy's already seen inside her head. What is there to lose? (Why does it feel so good to talk, the damn broken after all these years?)]

[vocalistyodels]

Well I ain't starting cannibal communes if it makes you feel any better.

[It was always to survive. Meat was meant when you were hungry enough, but he'd prefer roasted roach meat over some dead raider.]

Sounds like this fella needs to be knocked off his soapbox.

[goty]

[Ellie's hand, her good hand, the tattooed hand, suddenly clenches into a fist. She remembers the axe, and the shame it brought with it.]

What would you've done?

[vocalistyodels]

Put em down like the rabid dog he sounds like.

[Cooper shrugs a little though.]

But a rabid dog didn't have no say in being that way. Your fella did.

[goty]

Yeah. [Her fingernails are digging into the fat of her palm.] But how?

CW: torture, cannibalism

[vocalistyodels]

Oh you want the details. Hm.

[It's clear this is something personal to her.]

Bullet clean between the eyes. No point in wasting my time with em, but...

[The ghoul regards her, as if his eyes are trying to drink in every detail he can from her expression. Any tick. The way her hand is curled tight is enough to speak volumes.]

If you were looking to make it hurt... could cut his fingers off, force feed em them. Call that finger food.

[goty]

[Finally, Ellie feels something like safety. This is familiar. Her fists unclench.]

That would'a been the right way to do it. I mean, the first way. The second way... a guy I knew taught me how to do that, but only for information.

[She says it so gently. The word 'torture' doesn't breech the surface of her mind.]

[vocalistyodels]

[Violence sure is familiar to people like them. Even if that isn't what she meant.]

Ha. Y'know most times that sorta thing ain't even best way to get information. Folks'll tell you whatever you want to make the pain stop.

[There was a study about it way back- also maybe he has some experience on that front.]

So- how'd you do it then?

[Because it seemed way too pointed a question to not have been something she'd dealt with. Or wanted to. Either way, he was nosy.]

[goty]

[She needs to ask him about that later. Joel's method being flawed-- she'd never considered it. The world is too large and terrible and full of unturned stones and unclaimed paths. Imagine never exploring all of it.]

[But his question- her hand hovers over her pale neck.] He was... I mean, I grabbed an axe.

[vocalistyodels]

[Torture has it's place. While it may or may not be the best method of getting information, sometimes it just feels good to make someone suffer. Sometimes they deserve it.

Cooper watches Ellie, taking in the way she moves, probably not even realizing she's doing it as she finds it hard to spit the answer out.]

Split him like a tree trunk did ya? Must've made a hell of a mess.

[goty]

[She flinches from his assessment-- accurate, unfortunately.]

Made me wanna hurl. [But she's tougher now.] I, I was just a kid. Just a few months after the thing you saw. [Her first kill, and then her first murder.]