Once upon a time there was a girl named Inhatti.
She was beautiful. She was treacherous. Her heart was as black as her slick hide, without the pattern of red spots.
In ancient Top, this salamander lived and played. Her games went further than the proper ways. Much, much further. Past death, again and again.
Artwar, biowar, transformation: Plagues. She was one of the agents of the creation of Strangevirus, a mover an enabler a seducer. Body rotting in a by-blow of a struggle between the early Virus and the other clades of Top, she subsumed herself into the Virus. Fragmented, shattered, destroyed, dead-past-dead.
Later on, she was Sosael. Later on, she was Atazael. There were many names. Many deaths.
Or so she claimed, when she was torn from within the butterfly. So the story goes.
Once upon a time.
The favorite dancer in her deadly games, so long ago, was
Meliaam. They followed each other down and down. There is no bottom.
Frostbyte says, "I'm not going to build a trap for you, Inhatti."
Frostbyte says, "It's just... You're so
foul."
Frostbyte says, "Everywhere you go, you make people nauseous or horrified or otherwise unhappy. I'm tired of having to watch you cavort in offal or scrape your own bone shavings in to your coffee or shit in flower pots or effervesce in to bees or whatever."
"[You] died in childbirth, working to make real what was desired. Now the child pines for what was, bringing forth poor recollections of bad memories of its mother. It is rather pitiable, and I sincerely wish I could soothe it, but it appears I cannot. So instead I spar with a memory." --from
GrayZero, to Inhatti, in Puzzle Park.
- "...Amusing new lies. Someday we may claim them as ours." --her reply