You step into my carrd expecting information. Regretfully, I am not here to greet you. You'll have to take this journey on your own, and it may not give you what you are looking for. Do you still play?
There is a piece of paper clipped to the wall. You peel it carefully, and small paint flakes come off with the tape.
It is a small table of information.
| Item | Description |
|---|---|
| Pronouns | They/them |
| interests | quackity and technoblade |
You look behind the piece of paper. There is a small scribble in the right corner, but upon closer inspection, it just seems to be a crossed-out signature.
You begin to look around. The singular hallway is like a very long box. You walk a few steps forward, and hear your own footsteps echo back behind you.
This doesn't seem like a very good place to be alone in. You are probably wishing you were dressed better to brace against the chill.
I cannot begin to guess what you expected to see outside the windows. You put your palm against the glass, and it feels warm - there should be a sun outside, and you squint your eyes trying to make it out.
(If I were beside you, I would tell you that trying to stare directly at the sun is not a good idea.)
You don't make anything out except the same, painted over white.
You are in a very... interesting... outfit. You are almost certain that you were not wearing the same thing before you entered my Carrd.
The furs do help keep the chill at bay, but the thin, straw sandals leave a small space between you and the glass floors.
You tap at the mask that has melded over your face. Every visitor comes with their own way of concealing their identity.
(But I am not with you. It seems a little silly to keep it on, don't you think?)
You suppose it would be awkward to bump into someone you know. You are well aware that it is very dangerous to give out personal information to strangers on the internet.
You know that you ought to wait at least a few months between correspondence before divulging things.
Such as where you live, what your age is, and what you look like.
All the better to keep that mask on.
You trace your fingers along the window sill, trying to see if it is the origin of the cold.
If you put your ears to the glass, you might be able to hear the sound of the wind. It will also warm you - the windows are the only things that are warm here.
You do not want to be in these new weird clothes. You would like to know where you might be able to find your original clothes.
(If I were there to greet you, I would inform you that you will get your clothes back as soon as you leave.
But as I am not there to greet you, I cannot inform you of this.)
You kick a sandal a few meters down the corridor, and immediately regret it when your foot comes down to the glass.
Yeah. I'm sick of making new pages. This took longer than it should've.