Briefly it crossed her mind how much she used to hate the city - this realm that had held them captive. How much she used to detest the language too - the knowledge she's been infused with, unprompted. The same language she was so determined to use against the Organiser a few months ago. The same language she almost died protecting tonight.
How ironic.
But right now, she was just tired. Aching and dazed and very, very tired. If anything, she wished she had her shoes still, so she could chuck one at that big blue bullseye.

"..that's what you get for stepping on the grass..!"

---

illustration I did for an art RP group I'm in ...
oh boy the story is about to end and I'm not ready. I'm going to miss my shapeshifting pothead of a kid, and her ever-hungry treehugging cryptid monster. maybe I'll bring them back as some AU versions, idk.

I don't usually upload stuff made for this project here, but I was very proud of how this one turned out~

ps: they're gonna be fine.