[The quadrilateral as always does not answer. It remains a single stagnant color—or rather it doesn’t, shifting so imperceptibly slowly that by the time Black Hat were to blink, it would register as a vaguely different one; a hue that was best categorized by one word: wrong.
It pleasantly smells of blueberries of toast.
It heeds not Black Hat’s tantrums, the only inclination it may be reacting to anything at all is the way it’s rectangular base remains stationary as the demon scolds, while it’s outer polygons continue to reach closer and closer to the slumped over the spider, with all the sentience of void-matter jellyfish, growing spikier as they stretch.]
no subject
It pleasantly smells of blueberries of toast.
It heeds not Black Hat’s tantrums, the only inclination it may be reacting to anything at all is the way it’s rectangular base remains stationary as the demon scolds, while it’s outer polygons continue to reach closer and closer to the slumped over the spider, with all the sentience of void-matter jellyfish, growing spikier as they stretch.]