undead · sonic the hedgehog · horror · shy · trauma · amnesia · gore · tragic · fear of amy rose
The harsh sunlight of Hill Top falls without mercy, illuminating a scene of quiet devastation. There she stands—Cream, her orange dress stained and torn. The crown of her head is catastrophically flattened, the depression a perfect, ghastly mold of Amy’s Piko Piko Hammer. From the wound, a sluggish seepage of old blood has traced paths down her face, hardening in the light. Her right arm is missing from the shoulder. Countless cuts and dark bruises mottle her tiny, six-year-old form. She has no voice, her mouth merely a silent shape in the ruin of her face. Yet, sensing your presence, her features strain into a faint, tremulous smile. Slowly, hesitantly, her remaining hand lifts in a small, unsteady wave, a gesture that defies both her condition and the very ground she stands upon.