this one idea i had for a while

the introduction to the storyline

i don't know if i'll really keep up this hobby guys
their city is very much inspired by overcrowded metropolitan cities really, can you tell i waste around 4 hours of my day on public transporation in istanbul? is it obvious? should i also add a little story about how i found chewing gum that was almost one with a handle on a train?
durgun's vibe was inspired by the song wozwald, which i added as a youtube video above.
i dont promise any amazing writing moments i just spit out words
oh i will also use different pronouns for manifestations often, i hope it won't be confusing
-

It's November, and cold.

Within the vast sea of people walking by each other, bumping into others and pushing by them, Durgun walks towards her own destination, gaze lowered. Her waist-long, black hair flows down her brown coat, and if not for her overgrown bangs shadowing her eyes, one would be able to catch a glimpse of the void-dark irises she's cursed with. Shoulders slumped, carrying a black backpack, ears covered with her headphones.

It's an unflattering sight, her existence.

Another fish in the sea, she is - invisible, ultimately forgettable. In the capital of Lacan, Sylia, she won't ever be seen by the same person again, and so, she walks by without a worry of how another would think of her. Funny, she's stopped caring about that a long time ago, ever since she's realized that the people of this country are beyond saving.

Looking forward, she notices the escalators to the train station being crowded with more and more people over time. It'll take time, she figures, and missing another train won't change a thing. Nothing will ever change a thing, in the end.

Her steps stop before a street advertisement screen, the light illuminating her figure too brightly for her - perhaps if the sun weren't setting down, it wouldn't be so blinding. It's a shame that her classes end at such absurd times, not soon enough to have the day and do whatever she wishes but not late enough to call it all a day and rest.

But all of that loses any importance as the silhouette of the nightmare that she's figuratively lost against appears before her. For her, it's nothing but a completely void figure - no defining features of its own. Nothing to remember. No eyes to glare at with hatred, no hair to imagine tearing out, no mouth to dream of sewing shut, no nose to fantasize about breaking with a punch filled with disgust, no skin to imagine tearing like the tender skin of a chicken well-cooked. Upon this sight, any reasonable person would be - should be - terrified. And she is. Prickly, it feels, like rolling a cactus across her skin gently, not enough to pierce and draw blood yet enough to make her skin crawl, make her shoulders tense up in fearful anticipation. Her breath hitches - this is the creature.

"A--- ----- ----ght?"

The creature that takes everything.

"Mi---- ---- ---- -lright?"

Seeing someone call out to her out of the corner of her eye, she takes off her headphones, resting them on the back of her neck.

"Yes?" she turns to the woman, expressionless. "What is it?"

"Are you alright, miss? You've been standing and staring at the screen for quite a while," the woman responds, with the softest yet the most dull tone Durgun has ever been blessed with. She takes in this woman's appearence - no older than fifty, no taller than 180 centimeters, with a very good posture. One of her hands stay hovering above her stomach that is covered by a baby-blue cotton blazer matched with the same color of a pencil skirt, rich, Durgun figures, as her other hand reaches out to her in a nurturing manner. A mother, perhaps? Her lips are quirked up, forming a gentle smile, and her eyes are... empty blues. Her brown hair in a ponytail. Durgun fails to respond in time.