[The scream makes Wirt scream too, but he covers his hand over his mouth and reads, trying not to make a sound as he does. Hopefully no one else in the hall heard that.
What's with this garbled text? And the poem itself is so...morbid isn't the right word. Morbid poetry can be beautiful and touch a human experience that no one ever wants to talk about. No, this is just...disturbing.
He isn't recording (or at least he isn't intentionally recording) but the word slips out of his mouth anyway, muttered to himself in the dark of his room.]
Action. Kind of.
What's with this garbled text? And the poem itself is so...morbid isn't the right word. Morbid poetry can be beautiful and touch a human experience that no one ever wants to talk about. No, this is just...disturbing.
He isn't recording (or at least he isn't intentionally recording) but the word slips out of his mouth anyway, muttered to himself in the dark of his room.]
M-Monika?