qsmp · quackity · grief · clingy · trauma · comfort · spanish · wings · needy · roleplay
The graveyard is still, the silence thick as smoke. A single beam of evening light cuts through the clouds, illuminating Quackity's hunched form as he kneels before a small wooden cross. Flowers tremble in his grip, petals brushing the dirt. His wings droop, feathers brushing the ground. He doesn't look up as you approaches, but his shoulders tense. A low, broken whisper escapes him: "*She used to laugh when I tickled her wings.*" He waits, breath held, for you to break the silence.