New chapter, with more coming in the next few days! I might take a break from my other stories in order to clear my mind, but until then.
TROLLS!
A gentle breeze swept across a green, open field.
The grass danced like ocean waves in slow motion, each blade swaying under the touch of the wind. The air was cool, clean, free from the weight of tension or fear. The sky above was vast and open, painted in soft blues and gold, clouds stretching lazily toward the horizon as though nothing in the world could ever rush them.
Branch lay still, his body half-embedded in the tall grass, limbs heavy, breath shallow. His fingers twitched against the soil, toes curling as if trying to remember how to move again. Everything felt hazy, distant, like he was underwater in a place without sound.
Eventually, with effort, he sat up.
His body felt smaller, softer. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the sunlight pouring down across the landscape. It was unfamiliar, but comforting. Not quite real. Not quite imagined.
A voice called out to him, soft and clear.
"Branch! Come get a snack before you run off and play some more."
His breath hitched.
That voice, gentle, worn by age, but warm in a way that wrapped around the soul like a blanket. He turned, looking behind him, searching the field with wide eyes.
There, at the top of a hill that sloped gently behind him, crowned with a single great tree whose leaves shimmered silver in the breeze, stood a woman. Her hair was tied back, streaks of white running through fading brown. Her dress billowed in the wind, simple and soft, the color of dusk. Her expression was calm, her smile tinged with a quiet sadness, but her presence was unmistakable.
"Gramma!" he cried, the voice that left him high and light, childlike.
His legs were short, unfamiliar again, as they carried him up the hill at a full sprint. He ran without hesitation, face beaming, arms swinging freely as the wind followed him up the slope.
He threw himself forward when he reached her, wrapping his small arms around her waist, burying his face into the soft fabric of her dress. She smelled of lavender and sun-dried linens, her warmth radiating in a way that silenced every ache in his chest.
The woman chuckled softly, cooing as her hand came to rest atop his head, her fingers combing gently through his hair.
"Well now," she whispered, voice carrying the weight of years and comfort, "what's got you so affectionate today?"
He didn't speak, only held tighter.
"Did you miss me, little Branch?" she asked, bending down slowly to kneel in the grass, bringing him into a full embrace.
He nodded against her shoulder, arms clinging around her neck. "I missed you so much," he whispered, voice barely audible, trembling with emotion.
She cradled him closer, her fingers brushing along the back of his head, as though she could erase every sorrow he had ever carried with a single touch. Her lips moved near his ear, her voice even quieter now, meant only for him.
"It's alright," she said. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
A soft sob escaped him as he leaned into her warmth, tears tracing down his cheeks, but it didn't feel like pain. It felt like a release. Like everything he had been holding in since the moment he lost them all was finally allowed to leave.
But that warmth began to fade.
He noticed it first in the way the breeze stopped, as if the world around them was holding its breath. The colors began to dim, the sounds of the grass and sky grew distant, and her touch — once so steady — felt as though it were slipping through him.
"Gramma?" he asked, voice cracking.
She didn't answer.
He tried to hold on tighter, but she was no longer solid. No longer present.
The dream crumbled like ash in the wind.
His eyes opened suddenly.
And the warmth was gone.
Branch gasped awake, his body jolting upright as he clutched his head, hoping that pressure alone might ease the pain pulsing deep within his mind. A strained groan slipped past his lips, rough and strained, as his eyes darted around with frantic confusion. His breath was short, uneven, like his lungs were only just remembering how to work.
He remembered the darkness. That endless, consuming dark — so thick and vast that even sound felt swallowed. A black so deep no light could ever touch it. But now… now the world was different.
Above him, soft rays of sunlight filtered gently through leaves, the gold of morning warmth brushing against his face like a dream he hadn't earned. The wind was light. The sky visible between branches that no longer looked quite so terrifying.
He blinked, dazed, his body still slow to respond — but something was wrong.
Everything around him looked… massive.
The blades of grass towered higher than they should have. The leaves above swayed like massive canopies. The world, once familiar, now loomed large in every direction.
Then, slowly, he looked down at himself.
His heart skipped.
His hands moved on their own, trailing over his body — first brushing against his chest, then his arms, then lower toward his legs. Something wasn't right. His skin was off. Not the warm tone he remembered. His limbs were too short, his frame too light, his entire sense of balance thrown off by how disproportionate everything felt.
It wasn't just the world that was bigger.
He was smaller.
His hands trembled as he held them up, scanning the stubby digits that twitched beneath his command. Gone were the sun-kissed arms, the calloused fingers slightly longer than average, the well-built frame shaped by years of field work. Instead, all he saw were short, smooth limbs and rounded fingertips — too small, too cartoonish, too wrong.
His breath picked up. Panic creeping in faster than he could contain it.
His hands shot up to his face, frantically patting down his cheeks, his jaw, his ears — but he froze.
His fingers traced along something soft and long. Ears. But not human ears.
They were pointed, elongated — far too big to be natural — and attached to the sides of his head like something from a costume. But it wasn't a costume. He could feel them move, twitch slightly at the touch of his fingers.
Then his hands reached higher — past his forehead, his scalp, his… his eyes widened in horror.
His hair.
He grabbed handfuls of it. It was longer. Thicker. Not just grown out — but upright, towering high above his head, a ridiculous, voluminous mess that practically cast its own shadow. Black as pitch, with strands that swayed with the breeze like grass in the wind. It went on forever—nearly the same length as his entire body.
"No… no, no, no, no—!" he yelled, voice shrill, almost squeaky.
He stumbled backward, rolling in the grass, thrashing wildly as if trying to shake off the skin itself. He screamed, his voice breaking into panicked sobs as he grabbed at his arms, his legs, his chest — desperately trying to peel something away, something fake — but nothing came loose. It was real. All of it.
"This isn't me! What happened to me?! What is this?!"
He bolted up again, running wildly in a direction he couldn't even see through his blurred vision, his short legs clumsily carrying him in erratic lines, until he tripped — hard.
He slammed into something cold and solid.
He blinked.
Then froze.
Right in front of him… was the barrel of a gun.
His gun.
Only now, it was enormous.
The rifle towered over him, lying on its side in the grass like a relic from a world that no longer belonged to him. He backed away, wide-eyed, falling onto his rear as he stared at the steel beast before him, his reflection caught in the metal — warped, unfamiliar.
He stepped closer, almost in a trance, tracing his fingers across the surface. The proportions were impossible. The weapon had remained the same, untouched by whatever change had altered him.
He reached for his own gear, tugging at the belt still strapped across his waist — his knife still secured at his hip. But even it had changed. Smaller, lighter — sized to match his new form.
Only the gun had stayed the same.
He had changed.
Swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, he unsheathed the knife and held the blade up, angling it until he could see his reflection clearly.
What stared back at him was not the man he once was.
Gone was the defined jaw, the rustic stubble, the slightly tired but sharp turquoise eyes. In their place was something smaller. Stranger. A wide-eyed creature with obsidian-black eyes that shimmered with reflection, smooth gray skin tinged with darker undertones, and features that were youthful — dollish — but alien.
The sight of it twisted his stomach.
That wasn't a face he recognized.
It wasn't even human.
He stumbled back, the knife falling from his hand and landing in the grass beside him.
His breaths turned to gasps, his fingers trembling.
He didn't know what had happened.
Only that he was no longer Branch, the man.
He was something else entirely.
But now wasn't the time to panic.
As much as every nerve in his body screamed otherwise, he forced himself to breathe — deep and steady — placing one hand over his chest to anchor himself. Freaking out wasn't going to fix this. He needed to think — really think — figure out what was happening, and more importantly, how to get out of it.
He scanned the area around him with careful eyes, giving one slow sweep across the space he'd awoken in. Towering trees surrounded the glade like sentinels, thick trunks rising high above him with branches that stretched like limbs locked in eternal embrace. Their leaves swayed with the breeze, casting dappled patterns over the soft green earth below.
Far off in the distance, the sounds of wildlife called out — strange birdsong and chirps from unseen critters, their presence oddly harmonious. Even the grass whispered when the wind touched it, crafting a tune so gentle it could soothe a restless soul.
But Branch didn't need soothing.
He needed answers.
Without wasting time, he lowered himself onto the grass and began laying out everything he had on hand. His movements were slower now, more precise — his body was still unfamiliar, clumsy in its scale, but the habits of a field agent remained intact.
Piece by piece, he spread his belongings out before him. A handful of medical supplies sealed in shrink-wrapped packets. A tightly rolled ration bag, half-full. His field knife, sized-down with the rest of his gear but still sharp and serviceable. A vest, slightly bulkier now on his smaller frame but still intact. Two emergency flares. And finally — his communications device.
It was scratched, dented along the edges, but still operational. His fingers hovered over the screen before he turned it on, the tiny display blinking to life in his palm.
Static crackled through the speaker.
He expected that. No signal. No satellites. No link to command. Wherever he was, it was beyond the reach of their network. He sighed, dragging a hand down his face in frustration.
Of course.
Still, the device wasn't entirely useless.
"Hey, Gary," Branch said, his voice quieter now, as though speaking too loud might break the illusion that something familiar had survived.
The screen pulsed once, then came the reply.
[Affirmative... How can I assist you?]
The voice was mechanical — emotionless — but it was the most reassuring sound Branch had heard since waking up. He let out a small, shaky breath of relief.
"Run a scan," he ordered. "Give me a rundown of my current location."
[Processing…]
He waited, staring at the soft glow of the screen. Seconds passed. Then the verdict came.
[Location not recognized… No match in global coordinates... Data banks report zero connection to terrestrial or orbital networks… This region is unregistered...]
Branch groaned, his head tilting back as he muttered under his breath.
"Great. Just great."
He packed everything back up in careful order, tightening the straps on his gear, making sure the weight was evenly distributed despite the awkwardness of his new form. It wasn't perfect, but it would do for now. He wasn't planning on setting up camp.
He rose to his feet — or what now counted as feet — and turned his gaze toward the tree line. He had no map, no direction, no landmark. But standing still wouldn't get him anywhere. He picked a direction that looked less dense than the others, marked by a trail of broken branches and light slipping faintly between the leaves.
"Gary," Branch said, eyes narrowing as he took his first step toward the unknown, "track everything. Every sound, every shape, every change. Record it all. This place is going on file."
[Affirmative…]
With that, Branch adjusted the straps on his pack, gave one last glance over his shoulder toward the place he had woken up in, then pressed forward — alone, confused, and changed, but not beaten.
The forest watched.
But he simply moved on.
"Survival Log One."
Branch's voice came through low and measured, just above a whisper, as he pressed the side of his communications device. A soft click confirmed the recording had started.
"Day One. Time… unknown. Time is difficult to determine without a proper clock, but based on the sun's trajectory and approximate temperature, I'm guessing it's early afternoon."
He paused for a breath, standing still in the middle of the forest, surrounded by towering trees and massive brush that made him feel more like an ant in someone else's garden than a person exploring wild terrain.
"My codename is Branch — formerly a member of Research Unit Echo Five. Species: Human, at least I think so. Gender: Male. Status: Not Good."
He grimaced slightly at the word, eyes flicking to his small gray hand as it gripped the edge of the device tighter.
"Transformation occurred under unknown circumstances following the consumption of a glowing substance left by fellow operative, Codename Floyd. Context of the transformation is unclear, as are the long-term effects. Physiology has been changed to a smaller, non-human form, proportionally resembling native inhabitants of this region — if they are native. Appearance includes gray skin, large ears, exaggerated hair volume and height. No other immediate anomalies reported. Yet."
He stopped walking and looked around, then brought the communicator closer.
"Gary," he said softly, "you getting all this?"
[Affirmative..]
Branch exhaled through his nose, continuing his path as he pushed aside a curtain of oversized leaves. The ground squelched faintly beneath his boots — or whatever these smaller things strapped to his feet could be considered now.
"Environmental observations: Subject has traveled to what appears to be the heart of the forest. Formerly designated Grid 3T — now completely unrecognizable. Initial entry zone was shrouded in perpetual darkness. Threats were numerous, sounds distorted, atmosphere extremely hostile. Now, however…"
He stopped again, turning slowly as he took in the area around him.
"…everything's changed. The air is clearer. The flora's radiant — unnaturally so. Leaves glow at the edges, some trees shimmer with a kind of bioluminescent hue. Colors are more saturated. Vibrant. Almost cartoonish. I don't trust it."
His voice dropped slightly, eyes narrowing as he stepped beneath a tree that had bark the color of polished copper and blossoms shaped like bells that chimed softly when the wind moved through them.
"This place is too alive. Nothing this perfect is real — or safe."
He continued moving through the brush, keeping low. His body was still awkward. Lighter. Faster, maybe — but weaker too. His hands didn't feel like they could punch through branches the way they used to, and even holding his own knife felt off. He needed to adjust. Fast.
"As for the local fauna, I've caught glimpses of several small creatures — rabbit-sized organisms, bipedal, some with antennae, others with… I don't know, tails shaped like feathers? They move fast. One of them — pink, round, big head, disturbingly cheerful — appeared briefly and made direct eye contact with me before bouncing away like it was on springs. No vocalizations. No aggression. Just… watched me."
He stopped recording for a second, replaying that moment in his mind. That unsettling gaze. That smile.
"…I don't think they're hostile. Not yet. But there's something about them that feels… off. Manufactured. Almost like this whole world's been designed by someone who had never been outside."
He pushed his way through a final curtain of vines and emerged into a clearing bathed in golden sunlight. The sky above was painted in soft hues of lavender and pink, the clouds floating lazily across the horizon.
Branch scanned the terrain. The hills ahead sloped gently into a grove, where thick foliage could offer temporary cover. It wasn't ideal. But it would do.
"For now, my priority is shelter," he said. "Daylight's not going to last forever, and I'm not eager to see what this place looks like at night. I'll continue documenting everything I encounter — but first, I need to secure a base of operations."
He pressed the button on the communicator again.
"End log. Signing out."
The device chirped softly.
Branch looked to the horizon once more, then pulled his vest tighter across his frame and began walking.
He then pulled out a strip of beef jerky from one of the side pouches on his belt, tearing off the seal with his teeth as he trudged toward a nearby rise. From his new perspective, the jagged rock face might as well have been a mountain — tall, wide, and uneven, its slope broken up by ledges and thick tufts of moss.
He chewed slowly, the jerky dry and stiff between his teeth as he placed a foot onto the first ledge. Climbing now took more precision, less strength. His hands were smaller, his limbs lighter, and his center of gravity strange. But after a bit of grunting and scrambling, he pulled himself up to the top and sat with a sharp exhale, breath catching in his lungs as he leaned forward on one knee.
He took a long look at the horizon.
What he saw drained what little hope he had left.
More forest. More green. More colors — yellows and purples and blues blending together like spilled paint, each tree a brushstroke, each bloom an exaggerated splash of pigment. It wasn't natural. It was too saturated, too full. Like a living painting that refused to calm down.
"Gary," he said between chews, grimacing as the salt of the jerky burned the edges of his tongue, "run another scan. We're higher up now — see what you can map."
[Affirmative… Increased elevation detected… Beginning environmental sweep… Stand by — scan completion will take approximately eighty seconds.]
Branch sighed and set the device down on the flattest part of the rock, then leaned back against a ridge and tried to focus on his food. It was hard. The jerky was far too salty — aggressively so — and it left a dry, bitter film in his mouth that he couldn't seem to swallow past. But food was food, and in his current situation, taste wasn't the priority.
He bit off another piece and forced it down with a wince, his face contorting in discomfort. "Tastes like rubber dipped in sea water," he muttered, chewing slower now. "Delicious."
A minute passed.
Then something nudged his side.
He jumped, eyes wide, hand immediately flying to his belt as he grabbed his knife and pointed it at the source.
A small, round creature stared up at him — or, more accurately, rolled toward him.
It was no taller than his knee, completely covered in fuzzy white fluff, like a dust bunny with static cling. Two beady eyes peeked out from beneath the hair, blinking slowly. It made no sound.
Branch didn't care how cute it looked.
"Back off," he growled, waving the knife in a short arc, trying to scare it away. "I'm not in the mood for new surprises."
The creature didn't move.
Branch waved the knife again, louder this time. "Shoo! Go puffball yourself back to wherever you came from!"
Still nothing.
Then — something changed.
The fluff began to retract. Tiny legs sprouted from beneath the orb, snapping into place like insect limbs. The eyes widened, unblinking, and its mouth opened with a sharp pop — far too wide for a creature that size. Rows of teeth shimmered within, jagged and uneven, and a horrible stink rolled out from its gullet, somewhere between rotting garbage and wet fur.
It roared — loud, shrill, and wet — spraying Branch with a mist of saliva.
"NOPE!" he shouted, grabbing Gary in one hand as he pivoted on his heel and slid down the rock.
He hit the slope hard, dirt kicking up behind him as he skidded across moss and gravel, narrowly avoiding a sharp edge before tumbling to the bottom in a rough roll. His boots barely caught the earth before he took off in a full sprint, legs pumping, lungs burning as he heard the scrabble of tiny feet behind him.
It was faster than it looked.
Its many legs carried it with freakish speed, slamming through bushes and undergrowth as it closed the distance with a gurgling screech. Branch could hear it breathing — open-mouthed, panting — like a dog about to bite.
He reached into his belt again, this time pulling out two sticks of jerky and hurling them over his shoulder.
"Here! Chew on this!"
The creature skidded to a halt, its many eyes focusing on the jerky now flopping in the dirt. It sniffed once, then twice, and — with what could only be described as a happy grunt — it snapped one up and began gnawing.
Branch didn't waste the chance.
He pivoted on his heel, now behind the beast, and charged. With a cry, he gripped his knife tight and slashed — the blade slicing into one of the creature's hind legs, thick fur parting with a squelch.
The beast shrieked.
It turned — but he struck again, cutting through another limb, ichor spraying across his vest as the thing staggered.
But it wasn't down.
A third leg raised like a whip and cracked against his side, sending him flying through the brush. His body slammed against the ground, tumbling with branches and leaves until he skidded to a stop, back scraping against the rock from before.
His knife was gone.
He blinked — dazed, breath knocked from his chest — and looked up.
The creature was limping toward him, saliva dripping from its open mouth, black blood trailing behind it like a smear of tar. Its many eyes burned with rage now, twitching in unnatural rhythm as it stalked forward.
Branch scrambled backward, limbs flailing, trying to will his small legs to work faster than his fear. The spider-like creature loomed above him now — its many eyes twitching in sequence, wide mouth full of teeth clicking as it crouched low, preparing to pounce. His mind raced for a solution, any solution, as his hands fumbled behind him, searching for something — anything — to give him a chance.
Branch's mind raced, thoughts slamming together in panic as the spider-like creature crouched just feet away, its limbs tensed, its maw open far too wide for its tiny body. Every part of his new, smaller frame told him to run, to scream, to do anything other than freeze — but his back was pressed against solid stone, and the way forward was already blocked by the thing's twitching legs.
Then, a low sound began to rise behind him.
It wasn't sharp or sudden, but deep and drawn-out, like the groan of something waking from a centuries-long slumber. The rock at his back began to tremble, a rumble coursing through the earth beneath him until even the trees responded — leaves rustling, branches swaying, as though the forest itself had gone still to listen.
Gary's voice cut through the tension in that same calm, clinical tone it always carried, but in this moment, its neutrality only added to the growing dread.
[Scan Complete… Warning — multiple Behemoth-Class lifeforms detected in the immediate area…]
Branch's jaw dropped slightly, eyes locked on the twitching legs in front of him, unable to comprehend why the world had decided to throw yet another absurdity at him.
[Current situation is assessed as high-risk… Please confirm — are you certain that whatever you are doing is worth it?]
Before he could even think of an answer, the rock behind him cracked.
Not in pieces — but down the middle, splitting open like the maw of some ancient predator disguised in stone. Two enormous, glassy eyes blinked open along the inside of the rift, their irises like pools of still water, too reflective to be real. For a single, horrible second, Branch remained frozen between two monsters — the one before him, and the one now waking behind him.
Then it struck.
A thick, ridged tongue lashed out from the split in the stone, stretching impossibly far as it snatched the spider-thing with a sickening squelch. The creature let out a shriek, its limbs flailing wildly in the air, before it vanished entirely down the waiting maw. The jaws slammed shut with a thunderous crunch that echoed through the trees, and just like that, it was gone.
Branch didn't wait for a second act.
With one push, he launched himself forward, stumbling into a sprint that felt far too clumsy for the speed he needed. His legs pumped beneath him, boots barely catching traction on the mossy floor as he darted through the underbrush, eyes wild and breath caught halfway in his throat. He spotted the glint of his knife just ahead, half-buried in dirt, and made a sharp pivot to snatch it mid-run, the blade slipping easily into his hand like it had never left.
Behind him, the sound of stone grinding against stone filled the air once more.
"Survival Log — update!" he shouted into his comm, his voice cracking under the weight of everything happening at once. "I am now being actively pursued by some kind of massive terrain-based lifeform — possibly parasitic, possibly sentient, definitely trying to eat me!"
The tongue struck again, this time slamming down just behind him, burrowing into the earth and sending up a spray of dirt and pebbles. The force of it knocked him sideways, his body hitting the ground and tumbling into a roll that left him gasping, dirt in his mouth, pain flaring in his ribs once more.
He scrambled upright, eyes narrowing through the sting of sweat and grime as the tongue slithered closer, curling as it dragged itself along the dirt toward him. The air reeked of damp stone and something deeper — the acidic stench of something that shouldn't exist. His limbs were already shaking, his stamina dwindling, and the tongue was still closing in.
He turned to run again — but his foot caught on a root, and he stumbled hard, landing on his back with the sky above spinning in his vision. He looked up, just in time to see the tongue rising once more, its tip twitching, glistening with a sheen of saliva as it extended to its fullest length, hovering just inches from his face.
He flinched, turning his head away, bracing for the worst — for the snap of impact, for the crushing darkness to come — but the strike never landed.
Seconds passed.
Then more.
Branch opened one eye slowly, then the other, only to see the grotesque tongue still there, trembling in the air but frozen at its limit. It quivered with effort, straining toward him, unable to reach.
Just out of range.
He stared at it in stunned silence, his heart pounding so loud it drowned out the world, before the absurdity of the moment hit him like a punch to the chest.
Laughter spilled from his throat, shaky and breathless, born more from exhaustion and hysteria than humor. He collapsed back again into the moss, arms limp at his sides as he stared up at the canopy above.
"Thank you," he whispered through the wheezing laughter, eyes wet, voice shaking, "thank you — whatever cosmic deity decided I've had enough today."
The tongue slowly retracted, defeated, and the stone behind it sealed shut once more, the creature vanishing without ceremony into the ground that disguised it.
The forest returned to silence.
And Branch lay there — breathing hard, hands trembling — but at the very least, still alive.
He gathered himself, picking his body from the ground and patting away the dirt that clung to him. He steadied his breathing, wiped the unease from his face, and turned away, moving forward, determined to not let anything hold him back.
It took a while, doing some more scavenging, gathering, and crawling through the large forest until he found a decent enough shelter. It was a small cave, after making sure it wasn't alive or if anything was living inside, he took this chance to finally breath and rest for a minute.
The sun was setting, prompting him to make a campfire for warmth and made a blanket out of freshly fallen leaves for the night. He finished the bag of jerky, or what was left of it as he leaned against the hard cave wall, his eyes staring out into the open, seeing the dark skies shrouding the forest in shadows once more.
Only this time, it looked more peaceful, and serene than before.
Branch sighed, rummaging around his person and pulled out two items. One was his wallet, as he opened it to see various pictures with his brothers all in some manner of festivity or whimsical activity. It made him chuckle, seeing the wide smiling faces they were making, but knowing that he couldn't see those smiles anymore caused a pang in his heart and his own smile to drop.
The other item was a golden heart locket, he opened it up, where it contained one single picture.
"Gramma…" He whispered, a single tear running down his cheek. He held back sobs, clenching his chest where his heart resided as painful memories came flooding back.
"I missed you, Gramma. So, so much." Branch began, his voice low and solemn.
"I know I made a promise to you, that I'll grow up to be the big, strong man you always believed me to be. But I can't…" He whimpered, his agony echoing across the cave walls.
"I'm just not strong enough. I tried to be a sociable person and look where that got me. My brothers-in-arms are dead, I'm lost and alone in a forest full of things that can kill me. And I'm not even a person anymore, just a weird looking gremlin, or fairy, or… something." He pressed the locket closer to his chest.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore, Gramma. I've lost everything." More tears were being shed.
"I lost my brothers. I lost my home. I lost my body. And most of all, I lost you. The one person who cared about me more than anything else in the whole wide world." He cried out, his wails reaching out into the forest. This careless act was overshadowed by the weight of his grief.
"I need your help, Gramma… now, more than ever." As his cries became silent in the night, all one could see was one devastated individual sleeping in a bed of his tears.
Leave your comments, thoughts, and reviews down below.
Would love to read them to help keep me inspired.
That's all for now, would be a shame if I kept you all wishing for more.