Harpie_Raven
(Cover art by Camiiro on Tumblr)
(Ranboo Writing Contest Entry)
Drip. Drip. Drip.
His eyes flew open not even a second after he'd heard it.
Cold droplets splattered onto his face, and he looked up. The purple veins of the crying obsidian above him weren't unfamiliar, no, they reminded Ranboo of a small room tucked away and kept secret in a memory of a nation. They were just odd to see now, not in line with his current world. In Snowchester, there was no crying obsidian. His home was made of wood and pleasant memories, it felt nice, he'd even go as far as labeling it as safe. Which did just raise the question,
Where had the crying obsidian come from?
"It's pretty boring, isn't it?"