✄ .・。.・゜✭・. another head hangs lowly, child is slowly taken, and the violence causes silence who are we mistaken ━━━
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██ 004. / NOBLE STEED
█ ✄ ... / IN DISTRICT EIGHT there was a story — about the Pied Piper of Hamelin, who took children away to die.
The Piper was a peculiar figure, clad in unusually garish clothing, who had originally appeared to offer the town of Hamelin his aid. A rat infestation, the story said — something only a certain rhythm could resolve. Having witnessed how much the town was struggling, the benevolent Piper had promised to take their troubles away, so long as the people adequately compensated him for his hard work. But the people of Hamelin were not grateful to the Piper, and they refused to give him the payment he was so rightly owed. The town was selfish and thankless, and not a single soul within it had appreciated the Piper for all that he had done.
They had taken their Piper for granted, and for that, the people of Hamelin deserved to be punished.
And so, the Pied Piper returned to the poor old town, but this time, it was not the citizens' problems that he took away. Instead, as the Piper played his harmful tune, he led the town's children away to a beautiful land where he left them — one by one, until there wasn't a soul left to take. The innocent children paid the penance for their parents' crimes, and they were never seen or heard from again.
Many considered the story to be a metaphor for death. But then, that was all it really was...
Just another story.
As Paisley walked towards the stage, her legs trembled. When her name had first been called, it had felt like a wave pummelling through her chest — the feeling of everything around her, all crashing down at once. Everything fell silent, yet somehow, the world around her was spinning, like her body was floating weightlessly through empty space. Everything had felt entirely numb. And then, every sense in her body had somehow heightened, and all of her surroundings burned strikingly into view. Every sound, and every feeling. Every stifled breath and hopeless glance. Every slither of smoke still lingering in the clear blue sky, and every faded colour — or the coarse texture of polyester, as the breeze lifted her dancing skirt.
There was a high-pitched sound ringing in her ears — the sound of her mother crying. Excruciating in it's volume, and yet for Paisley, the noise felt rather painless. Familiar, even, because she had heard those sounds before. But nobody else seemed pained when Paisley's name was called. Most of the people around her didn't even seem to flinch. They just threw her commiserating smiles and empty stares — compassionately despondent as their faces filled with gloom. Looking at her like she was already a grave just waiting to be dug.
