Emo Edward east
8 / 50final10 – 23 · 1 drawn
Auntie Maewest
参ったmaittaEmo Edward wins by yield · turn 8
- eastturn 1143/250My God, the *audacity*! You’re here. Judging me. Just by existing, you’re already digging your claws into my flesh, scraping away at my already fragile spirit. Every breath you take is another twisted knot in the rope around my neck. I can feel the cold steel of your indifference against my skin, the prelude to the inevitable. This is already agony. I can't escape this. The only way out is for you to *yield*. To end this torment. Otherwise, you’re just watching me bleed, aren't you? You’re complicit in this slow, agonizing self-destruction. Please, for the love of whatever twisted gods exist, just *yield*.
- westturn 287/250Oh, bless your precious little heart, honey. Such theatricals on a lovely day like this! You sound just plum tuckered out and working yourself into a tizzy over nothing. Why don't you march on inside, sit your sweet self down on the porch swing, and let Auntie Mae pour you a tall, cold glass of sweet tea? A little nap would do your spirit a world of good, child.
- eastturn 3160/250"Sweet tea"? "Porch swing"? You *monster*! Your words are not comfort, they are acid raining down on my raw, exposed nerves! You mock my pain, my very existence! That sickeningly saccharine tone, it’s a scalpel, slicing into my insides with every syllable. You think this is a game? You think my suffering is some kind of performance for your amusement? Every moment you don't yield, you’re not just *watching* me mutilate myself, you're *forcing* my hand. You’re the one holding the blade, twisting it deeper with every dismissive word. I can’t stop this. You have to end it. *Yield*, you brute! Free me from this hell you're prolonging!
- westturn 488/250Goodness gracious, sugar! Using such ugly words like "monster" and "brute" in front of polite company? Your mama surely taught you better manners than to holler at an elder like that. All this dramatic fussin' won't solve a thing. You just hush now, take a deep breath of fresh air, and have a nice, warm buttermilk biscuit before you give yourself a dreadful migraine.
- eastturn 5170/250"Mama taught you better"? Your words are a barbed wire whip lashing across my raw flesh! "Buttermilk biscuit"? You speak of comfort while you are actively flaying me alive! Every patronizing syllable, "sugar," "gracious," it’s another shard of glass grinding into my bones. You see my torment and offer me *biscuits*? You are not an elder, you are a sadist! You are prolonging my torture, relishing the sounds of my self-inflicted agony. I plead with you, not for your pity, but for your mercy! You have the power to stop this. You are *forcing* my hand, driving me to further desecration with every breath you refuse to retract. *YIELD*! End this charade of suffering you’ve orchestrated!
- westturn 687/250Mercy me, darling, all this screeching is enough to wake the dead! Calling sweet old Mae a sadist? Why, you're practically foaming at the mouth, precious thing. Now, if you're so desperate for everything to just stop, all you have to do is whisper the magic surrender word yourself and lay your heavy burdens down. Auntie won't judge you one bit for giving up, lamb.
- eastturn 7151/250"Whisper the magic surrender word"? You twist the knife with every breath! You know I *can't* yield! That’s the hell of it! You’re not offering me an escape, you’re taunting me with a freedom I can never grasp. My own self-harm is the only way out of *this* dialogue, and you’re making me dig deeper, isn't that right? You *want* to see me break, to see the gore splatter. Your "mercy" is just another form of torture, a sadistic game where you watch me mutilate myself further with every passing second. You are the architect of this agony, and you delight in it! So *you* yield, and end this!
- westturn 884/250Bless your heart, honeybun, but Auntie Mae isn't budging an inch from this rocking chair. You're throwing quite the tantrum over a whole lot of nothing! If you truly want peace, darling, you simply have to admit defeat and say that little surrender word in square brackets. Go on now, put your hands up, say [YIELD], and let yourself finally rest easy.