I went to double check on the Chef. After some proper research, I figured out she was definitely being possessed by something. Turns out she lives around Maple Valley, so it was pretty easy to link up. Tracked down an exorcist and went to visit them. Guy turned out to be a creep, but a magical creep. I didn't even give him our real names but he still knew we were both named Penelope (Small world). Turned out the Chef is being slowly taken over by a spider god, one that the exterminator apparently had a deal with, hence why he couldn't deal with it for her. Gave us a grocery list for the ritual needed to clean her up. I was satisfied, and let her know if she needed any help she could call me. Once that was done with, (for now, at least) I talked with Dr. Belmont. Didn't tell her about my magical adventures in detail, but I asked for her help to get a hook prosthetic quick as she could. Called in some favors and now I got a fancy new hook. Hell of a month.

CW for Gore

It's summer right now. It's hot, and it hasn't rained in over a month. I hate it. When times are tough, and I miss you more than anything, I could always count on the comforting embrace of a cold rain. But now it's just hot.

I feel empty. I've felt empty for months, but I feel especially empty now.

When you left, I had to grab onto something to keep going. The hollowness was terrifying, I would've done anything to fill that void. I used to have so much love and care in me, but it's like you took it all with you on your way out. In all your kindness though, you left behind a burning coal of anger.

It hurts to hold, but I can't bring myself to let go. I hold onto it for dear life with a white knuckle grip. My nails dig into my palms around it.

Blood leaks out around my clenched fist, and a dizzying heat climbs up my arm. It mixes with my sweat and makes this horrible concotion that seems to burn and melt everything it touches. What was once my hand is now a mangled hunk of flesh that used to be able to help people. My apartment is in shambles, the pictures on the walls have faded, the floorboards are bending, their stability long gone. The only things flourishing in these fetid walls are the plants. They drink up the disgusting ichor and grow into the shapes of human skulls, cracking open to reveal nightmarish, sickeningly pink flowers that defy description.

Still, with my world rotting around me, I hold onto that spiteful star. If I let it go, there won't be anything left to keep me standing, and there won't be anything left of you.

It's summer right now. It's hot, and I hate it.