cryptid
/cryp·tid/
noun
an animal that has been claimed to exist but never proven to exist
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The investigation of cryptid creatures from the general public sparked interest within SHIELD's Enh...
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"Grace is just weakness, or so I've been told."
Dnipro Raion, Ukraine 1947
017 COULDN'T REMEMBER the very beginning. She was poofed into existence, like one of those princesses Uncle Kaz used to read about. He'd gotten in trouble for it, so she didn't hear of the princesses for a long time. But 017 was just like them– poofing into existence. Or maybe she wasn't. She remembered bright lights and pretty wings flapping across her vision. She remembered bowed heads as she reached out to one of the brighter lights, blurred faces. She remembered seeing the most prettiest emerald eyes gazing upon her with fondness.
He had been small, too, but she had been smaller.
017 dreamed about him sometimes. She wasn't sure who this emerald-eyed boy was, but he held her hand sometimes– in her dreams. 017 liked being around the emerald-eyed boy.
He was nice, and she liked nice dreams.
She sniffled, rubbing her eyes tiredly.
She couldn't remember what woke her up. She remembered seeing the boy with the sparkly eyes, before hearing things outside of her dreams. She couldn't remember what it was, though. Maybe she should open her eyes? Oh, but, she was still tired and it didn't seem like any of the bad men had come yet. She huffed, turning slightly. Her hands were clutching tightly to something that wasn't her dragon plushie, and she found herself prying her eyes open with alarm.
It was cold, and had lots of different textures–
Oh.
Oh, it was shiny and bright and so pretty.
017 giggled with excitement, pulling the object closer to herself. She pursed her lips when she realized it was– oh, it was an arm! It was 56898's arm! She blinked, a small smile forming on her lips. 56898 was sleeping on the ground beside her mattress, hair matted across his face. Her smile fell away when she realized the prong collar was still confining his throat.
She didn't like the way his skin bled, flesh hanging onto the metal ends.
It made her feel really bad.
017 slowly abandoned her blanket nest, climbing onto 56898's chest. She heard a throat clear and she turned her head to see the cell door open. The doctor with round glasses was standing at the doorway. 017 didn't like this doctor– Dr. Zola. She really didn't like him at all.
But 017 didn't want to be bad, and she didn't want this new– this new person to be hurt.
Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears when she remembered Uncle Kaz, so she tried not to think about him at all. 56898 had a very pretty looking arm, and 017 didn't feel hungry when she was around it. Their was so much light bouncing off its plated texture that hunger was something she couldn't really feel.
