In this world, there are those who love bunnies, and those who are terrified of bunnies.
Then of course, there are those who are bunnies.
Thiago strolls in, his dark eyes surveying the plebian souls who were in this part of Beqanna. He remembered some of their faces. Sorry bodies who mourned the loss of their powers or abilities. Thiago couldn’t give a damn otherwise. His face, such as it was, was distinctly lacking what made him distinct, and he found that blending in was all he cared to do. He found these days that he was not a people person—horsey horse?—and preferred his own company above others. Aloof. Darker than he had been.
The times had not been kind to him. Yes, he could finally blend in among the crowd, but now he could not escape them. What had he ever done that would cause this? He’d spent most of his time below the ground in a burrow, avoiding contact as much as possible. And yet, he had not escaped the wrath of the fairies. He is a man of few words, preferring the company of none.
He runs a tongue over his now flat teeth and smiles darkly. Normal. It felt good. His muscles ripple underneath a tight black pelt. Now if he could only return to his preferred form. He much preferred life below the ground, rather than being upon it.
Only, not having any close relations with anyone, had no idea as to go about it.
Social anxiety—what a fuckfest.
THIAGO
here comes peter cotton tail, hoppin down the bunny trail
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