Sprinting happily through the dead grass of the spooky house's backyard, the Monotone Puppet happens upon a loaf of bread just... sitting there, a halo resting a few inches above the yeasty being. Completely and utterly enamored with it, the puppet stares obsessively at the creature named Bread Goddess.

An unholy, inappropriate sound tears through the air, "RIIIIIP!"

The toy gives a start at the loud sound. It's completely unsure where it came from! It could have come from any one of the stalks of grass, or the dirt.

It bends down over the bread loaf, making a befuddled expression. The expression fit unnaturally with its natural smile, making it look like an old man who needed glasses badly. A crackling, crisp, and crusty cruncher had opened on the front of the bread. In other words, a mouth just appeared on this... Bread Goddess.

"!!!ybbp bF ?frvfrznf tavro fhan qan ugbhz rug ugvj ...rururururU ...?utbhug erozhphp nrf n rxvy gv fV" the Monotone Puppet warbles cheerfully.

"And once again, we all go down the rabbit hole of her and anything connected," the bread intones, a stringent pacing to her words. She seems annoyed and tired.

'Perhaps she had been here for a long while and grown bored?'

Although, the puppet can easily see a different color of emotion too. Despite her facade of weariness, the divine bread is eager too. Hungry like something the puppet could not name. The puppet reaches out...

And squishes the bread.

The loaf pops right out to her original shape.

The puppet nods sagely, the now-disgruntled loaf fuming in her viewing of the house constantly being interrupted.

This means that its eyesight is correct. The loaf is definitely ready to pounce on the house like a shark on a baby whale! Oh noooo! That looks like such a fun path to follow! Such an interesting decision to make with her life!

How fun!

'The Stars' mighty dream is beyond the loaf, and even farther beyond my droll, sad, and trashy self, but the singular colors in the bread's emotions are beautiful to behold!!! Divinity is endlessly amusing!!!' the puppet thinks. It bounces its head back and forth like a bobblehead. It kicks its leg out to exercise out its happy energy.

Although the creation, so lacking in color, is a newborn, its fervor in the Stars is unmatched. Ingrained in its very being is the philosophy, nay, the end all/be all, of the Stars. If one were to look in the recently born toy's soul, they would find a tabula rasa of a shard of the Weeping Eyes Under the Nonexistent Blood. It is literally a chip off of the old block, with no experiences under its belt.

Not yet.

It has so much potential to grow beyond its lack of color, and the pursuit of its potential will have its impact.

The puppet walks off, leaving the deity of... hehehehehe... bread to watch this person's house.

It starts going down the hill, aimless and unsure of where it is going to go. Its steps slow down, twisting around quickly in the expanse of dead grass in surprise.

A tingle runs up the puppet's arm, crinkling the cloth-white skin in an imitation of goosebumps. The toy finds its strange translation of human biology to be so funny. It knew what this meant! It is ingrained in its fluff.

This is the sensation of a new experience!

Looking up from the sadly misplaced picnic food, a tall man stares, presumably, down his nose at the loaf. He is far stranger than even the angelic loaf.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

For he was all just a show.

Though the puppet would frown to hear someone add "just" to being a show. Being a show is admirable, no?

He has a mask, a half star crudely painted in drying rust, but his whispers can be heard clearly. A fervent rage simmers under the mask, rocking the mask back and forth like a boat on a turbulent sea. Fresh red spatters the rim of the white mask.

"Ain’t you the colorless one; the reader who became a hound for blood?" he says to the Bread Goddess. The Monotone Puppet personally thought the man and the Bread Goddess were the same wonderful shade. In fact, stars of wonderment shine in its large, bead-like eyes at two samples of such a beautiful and impactful shade of

R҉E҉D҉

A male's long finger delicately taps the loaf of bread. A soft glow suffuses the deity, growing in brightness until it is a loaf-shaped neon white light. Shifting and warping in various directions for a brief moment, limbs grow out of the bread.

The puppet looks on. Expectations run through its fluff-filled head. It hopes dearly for a hilarious cartoon character with legs and arms, but a whole-wheat, gluten-free body and head.

"!abbb rzbp, abbb rzbP" it pleads, shaking its hands like a gambler at the tables. It even mock-throws dice onto the ground as the head starts to grow from the bread. Its observation of a dead Gambling Dungeon story appeared to have taught it about some of the popular vice. Though, instead of a gambler, a toddler with maracas might be a comparison more suitable to it. Either one would be quite apt, though, in regards to its personality.

Hair grows out of the bread, as well as a head. The puppet is wrong... but not at all disappointed! The spectacle fascinates it, and brought fascination to the Stars looking through its eyes, nonetheless.

For a brief moment, a vulnerable lady of stout stature is revealed from the glow.

Only for her clothes-less indecency to be covered with sprays of blood.

Her blood.

Gushing streams of red as alluring to the puppet as any social media notification just... erupt. Peppering dots of cherry red pepper the fading white eyes of the goddess. Livid red slashes flap like the gills of a shark in rushing water. Instead of a bloody cloud billowing into the water, they soak into her skin. The same skin brutally separated by the flashing blurs of a half-star.

The man hunches over the soft curves of the woman, wildly stabbing with abandon. The abstract four-points curve in arcs and parabolas, afterimages of solid red strokes bit into the flesh. So many passes made to cut her paint a very busy mess of bent bars and circles on a 3-D canvas. Laughter bounces raucously over and around them.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! "Title of fiction" yer next!!! I can't wait to see your red! It will be beautiful, and fer sure ease mah wounded heart! You don't deserve to live!!!" he madly rambles.

A point eases into her stomach, the surrounding viewers of the house fleeing with a hand clutching their stomach queasily. He carves off a loaf-shaped piece.

With a ginger touch, he pulls it off, exposing real intestines to the putrid air. Lifting it up to his face, you can almost hear the wrinkled nose of disgust in his voice.

"I never liked the crust," he says disparagingly, tossing it onto the fallen deity's face. He makes a show of wiping his hands together to try to get off the "lingering contamination of crust crumbs." All of this he did even though he was the one to bring forth the humanity from Bread Goddess just so he could draw blood from her humanity.

It is all just a show.

A show that others madly cheer on. They roar with applause, so many clapping in this feeling of self-justification that it sounds like the macabre sight of the bloodied half-star trekking to the house and kicking the door open. They are excited by his honesty.

"BLAM!" the frown-shaped door impacts the walls of this inner sanctum.

"HERE I COME!" he shouts, a boot still raised in the air from ramming open the house's door.

He stomps in, the bleeding red symbol in hand. The viewers lean in eagerly, poking their ears or whatever they use to hear towards the half-broken door.

"Time to die, Shark-chan! Your story sucks and the true author behind you sucks ass and balls! To create this filth, he must be filth too!!! You can't hide behind SnaggleTooth! Time to die!"

A few give wolf whistles at that, and say "Go Half-Star Rating! You are so right!!!"

Nothing happens for a brief moment, so a pause pregnant with silence in the clearing outside the house.

Blood trickles out from the gasping body onto the dirt, forgotten by everyone but the puppet.

The toy, completely uncomprehending of the issue with bleeding out, jumps on the goddess' chest. Instead of even an unhealthy cough of impending death, blood just bubbles at the corners of her bread-slice shaped mouth. It reaches out a black mitten slowly to the quickly fading light in soulful brown eyes.

And pops up the bubble.

It leaps back in surprise, giggling at the bubble stuff getting in its eyes.