An agonizing, ear-drum bleeding, hair-end splitting cry pierced through the crisp night air. An echo of what was a super funny meme lolz would be the end to millions of souls.
Skibiditis had arrived.
The world was spinning out of control. The fabric of space-time itself had been impaled. The world was going topsy turvy loopy, while its residents remained ever more blank. Dead.
They were becoming Hinged.
Maya couldn't sleep. She'd been plagued with visions. Twice during the day, twice during the night. Roses. Twelve of them. Twelve roses in total, five withering and one crumbling to ash to make room for the six that continued to bloom.
Twelve people. On the twelfth of the twelfth. That was the day where mhajheighck would be tested and true love would be trialled beyond their imaginations.
Would the bonds of their dodecahedron withstand the adversities of a pandemic doomed to grapple the universe? Would the twelve remain faithful to not only themselves, but each other?
Find out on the 19th of March.