So I’m sleepy but fuck it, thinking about how the basement must have been this horrific, terrible place to Sprig and Polly for so long??? The place they hid in for days after herons killed their parents???? The taste of old coal and soot as the screeching of birds bigger than they know how to measure make a crescendo of death and destruction. The slow creaking of the door opening to their dear old Hop Pop as he gathers them in his arms and weeps because they, at least, are safe. Returning to a Wartwood that’s fallen to shreds and missing various frogs, including their parents. And it’s sat empty for years since, the forbidden boogey man of the Plantar home.
Only for random sasquatch teen Anne Boonchuy to come in and make it her own, scatter teen magazines and prop her favorite tennis racket on a wall. The smell of beetle jerky and the glint of random swords she’d grabbed over time she didn’t know what to do with. And every day it slowly warped from the room Sprig and Polly were in as their parents were killed into Anne’s Room, smth comforting and warm and full of laughter and, somehow, someway, okay to breach again.