Floppy Fly
Control
The mouse skitters through shadowed corridors, claws clicking against ancient stone. Its whiskers twitch with electric awareness, nose parsing scents of damp moss and distant danger. This tiny scout moves as liquid smoke, slipping between torchlit patrols and creaking floorboards. Eyes like polished onyx miss nothing—a crumb’s glint, a tripwire’s whisper, the tremor of a falcon’s wings three rooftops over. To underestimate it is to court ruin; in this game of thrones between barn cats and iron-armored kings, the mouse remembers every secret passage, every poisoned crumb, every heartbeat of the dungeon’s pulse. Survival isn’t instinct here—it’s art.
description
Set that bird loose in the heavens—its wings weren’t made for cages. Can’t you see it *needs* the open sky? The raw, untamed air? Let it ride those currents, let the winds carve paths only it can follow. This isn’t just flight—it’s rebellion. Every beat of its wings screams, *I will not be tamed*. So drop the chains. Step back. Let it vanish into the horizon where earth and sky fuse. Freedom isn’t given—it’s seized. And that bird? It’s done asking.
