The Price of Conformity
((When I saw some of the recent Moraa works, I thought to myself: “Wow that’s sad... I’m going to write her experience so I can make people sad with me!” Maybe not all that was my idea, but most of it was. If you feel very sad, be sure to send your thanks to @pebster for such a wonderful art! It’s not going to follow EXACTLY what happened, but it follows it pretty much. WARNING: Angst is heavily inserted in this writing, there will be self inflicted harm. I hope you still enjoy this dark noncanon material!))
Moraa looked in the mirror, she glided her hand over her horns. Her memory still fresh of earlier that week, which stung like giant wasp attacking the back of her skull ferociously! Tears began running down her face, as the grip in her other hand tightened. She grabbed hold of her right horn, and raised her other hand that held a bone saw! “The girl he deserves...” She said to herself, trying to justify her next action. She placed the bone saw as close to the beginning of her horn as possible, and started.