hell is empty and all of its devils are here;

[finewithhalf]

It's not much, but it's theirs. The group of them is small right now, but it's been growing exponentially. Mindbroken humans, some deliberately driven mad and others who seemed to be half-there on their own, prostrating themselves and praying out loud to the Fog God.

Maya thinks it sounds like music. But perhaps the years haven't been very kind to her either. She's gone a bit feral, perhaps, and the blood doesn't completely wash out of her fur in some places where it's stained. But that's just life on the peninsula. And it's a life they're trying to make better every day.

She snuggles up beside Vanitas, purring into the wispy part where his ear ought to be.

"There's more today. I think some of them are starting to bring friends."