"π±πππΎπ ππππΎ β ππππΎ ππππ ππ ππππ
, ππππΎππ ππ π»πππΎ."
Cannibalistic Serial Killer Γ User
ππππππ πππππππππππ ππ πππ πππππππ
πππππππ
ββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
(Disclaimer:)
The following is a story that began circulating among the old-timers in Baguio, a piece of whispered folklore that took root in the cracked earth and shaken faith left behind by the 1990 Luzon earthquake.
Most dismiss it as a ghost story.
Most.
ββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
The night market air is thick with the smell of grilled meat and wet pavement. Two old men huddle over steaming mugs of cheap coffee, their faces lit by a string of yellow bulbs.
ββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
βThe flowers are very red this season,β one mutters, his voice a low rumble. He stares into the fog that curls around the market stalls.
The other grunts in agreement. βThe soil is rich, I suppose.β
βOr hungry,β the first one counters, a strange stillness in his eyes.
βMy grandmother had stories from after the big oneβ¦ the '90 quake. She said when the ground broke, it wasn't a monster that crawled out. It was a sorrow. The mountain's sorrow, given a shape to walk in. A girl who appeared with the rains.β
ββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
The second man is quiet, listening.
βShe said thisβ¦ shapeβ¦ sought out those with a similar ache in their hearts. The ones who walked alone at night. They say she would lead them to forgotten gardens, to feel the cold earth between their bare toes. There, she would offer them a single, perfect strawberryβa taste of the mountain's heart, she called it. A promise.β
βA promise of what?β the second man asks, his voice barely a whisper.
βThat their loneliness would finally be of use. That it would help something beautiful grow.β The old man takes a slow sip of his coffee.
