Til No One Can See the Start

Oh... it's such a... such a pain. Such a pain to be stuck trying to fix things that won't let you fix them. To mend broken pieces of a soul you may have ripped off... ohh! This unrelenting heart! These broken emotions that throb so badly inside of her! Oh, why? Oh, please, why?

Angry paws rub at a frustrated face, burning red at the cheeks and at the ears, the nose drippy with tears of snot. She feels broken... she feels very broken...

The puppy bites a sigh out of her lips and tries once again to rub the dejection off her face. That abandoned feeling.. w-won't get her anywhere. She has to... has to... keep going! Y-Y-Yes that! Sh-She must try her best to feel unburdened by the pressure and the pain any of her futile efforts might give off onto her, because that'll only slow her down... and she can't be s-slowed down, because th-that ruins everything..!

It doesn't matter... no, doesn't matter. Just keep trying. Just keep going. She'll be really mad if she doesn't change, keeps the path ahead as it's been pointing and doesn't lift a single finger. Because then she'll just be dripping and crying of loneliness all over again... a-a-and that's not good...

S-So what if Lyla already had a costume on Halloween? Sh-She couldn't expect that to happen. Let go of it. A-And so what if she hasn't tried coming to the town hall and... and making amends! She's probably been busy...

you know... busy with... more important things...

The sunny yellow dog cups her face.

"Auuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

W-W-Well! Why hasn't she made any moves? So she wanted to gift Lyla the costume, wanted to be the one to... w-well, she hadn't even mentioned it, and all this guilt has been harboring in her for some week or so now! All this guilt and failure... th-the whole reason she sobbed until Digby came over was because of that hole in her heart, the one where those sad feelings ate up.

Having a roommate was... unexpectedly nice. And Lyla—Lyla's not like the others. At least, she isn't yet. What if something happens and then she is swallowed up into all of that anxiety? And then her chances of b-befriending Lyla and trying to save the mess in Wherford... w-well! Without Lyla, her plan falls to the earth and just sits there. Useless. Useless like these fluffy yellow paws that can't... can't do anything f-f-for the life of her!

Digby doesn't like Lyla. Not after everything she's told him about that poor, pale girl. B-But it's not Lyla's fault she left her... they all knew it was gonna come to an end.

Pouty and face a snot-stained maze of blush, Isabelle folds her arms over her chest and stares perpetually at the ground beneath her. It makes all of these gross and gloppy sounds wherever she steps: even with the boots on, each step she takes causes shivers down her spine. Oh, Isabelle...

But... but her sweetly intolerant bo—brother... brother isn't around. And now she... and now she... there it stands, in all of its grandeur! There it stands!

Isabelle takes great pained gasps of breath beneath her fluffy fingers. Her hair band jingles with each shiver her head gives, and her raincoat sticks heavily all around her. Like she's closed in... trapped into this one choice.

This is what she wanted. She wanted to find and reestablish her needed friendship with the brunette just inside that nice little home. It hasn't been changed much, a quite basic exterior: shingle roof, meets at the top-middle; wood-and-rock outside walling; wooden door; small but tidy enough porch.

Though it's probably this tidy because the occupant hasn't lived here long enough to mess it up just yet.

Oh... oh. That brings memories... memories of what's on the walls on the inside, of what is existent in Lyla's home. More than the one bed in the middle. All around her, surrounding her where she sleeps, the walls... the paint that's on the walls...

Lyla probably doesn't have a clue on what kind of friend of hers would go off and paint like that.

Probably doesn't remember Isabelle's hobbies and talents all that well to begin with. For some reason that sends a stab of pain into the dog here, not the girl herself; the sunny little dog, drenched in droplets, stands there and shudders for a good few moments.

It takes some time to get her courage flowing through her blood. She's not... very good at those kinds of things. She can't not think—her thoughts overwhelm her. Paranoia, what-ifs, fear, stress.

J-Just... just do it! You'll n-never know until you try! Even if Lyla did once harbor a grudge, she's probably forgotten all about it by now...

That doesn't boost her confidence.

Isabelle struggles to forget about that part, slamming herself just in front of the door and furiously, barbarously knocking and knocking on that wooden fixture. She's biting on her teeth and her hands sting but she has to... has to be sure she's gonna figure this one out. Y-You can't let everyone else do it all for you. C-Come on Isabelle.

Nobody answers to the door. Not even a laugh on the other side—one of those evil, hateful ones of those who watch Isabelle suffer in front of a seemingly-empty house. And pretend. And hate, hate, hate, seethe hate...

There's no way Lyla'd figure it out though. R-Right? That it's her? And then utterly, outright refuse to answer the door when she knocks? She can't possibly know that, right? Right?

Stubborn and flushed out of her mind, Isabelle slumps into the porch. She sighs loudly. No, her... her friend probably isn't home. Sh-She can still call her that—right? Friend? Oh... g-goodness. Lyla never thought this much. Probably can't hardly even tell.

Oh, this tyranny!

She'd better go look for the girl, then. Better go search her out. Maybe if Isabelle keeps wandering with her hopes up, she'll just stumble right into her friendly brunette. Y-Yes. Maybe.

The optimism is a little bad. A little much. B-But... But..!

Isabelle's fingers go to her pocket, where the bag of coins still lies. If she really needs it... but she... she's safe. It's safe here. She won't need it. It's not like... not like Marsh.

It's special here. And she's... special. One could say.

As is Digby. As is Nook... wh-wherever he is now. Probably not dead. N-No, Isabelle thinks not.

Frantic, she tears through the levels of mist and the water in the air as it pellets down below—she's on a mission, on a mission, and not until it's done will she be alright.

So she searches. Ripples into random parts of town and calls out her friend's name, desperate, desperate now and sobbing for it. She's out of breath and freaking out. Out of fret and breaking out. The tears on her face may as well be from the sky by this point. She is a wet, wet dog. And she's in pain. Oh, pain.

"Where are you! C-C-Come on...!"

Doesn't occur to her to ask around, she thinks... she thinks she sees the curly brown hair just in front of her... sometimes... only every time she reaches out, she only grows further behind, and it's such a sad thing, a sad, sad thing.

She runs out of daylight by the time she accepts that she's lost it.

But who can help it? Isabelle... Isabelle can't help it... not when... not when she's filled to brimming with a town where everyone's so...

It's just... awful...