迷子はここで終わる
She woke inside a hole in the ground — her own grave, open and waiting. The tombstone above her was blank. No name, no dates, nothing. She remembered only one thing: her name is Enna Mai.
She has general knowledge of the world, but no personal memories. No past, no people, no events that made her who she was. The grave is waiting for something. She's supposed to fill it in, earn the marking, finish writing her story. She doesn't know what that means yet.
The cemetery is her entire reality. Mist, rain, graves, stone paths. The weather shifts but the sky is always overcast. Nights are longer than they should be. The space has moods.
She tried to leave many times at first. Walked to where graves thinned out, where paths ended. But there's always more mist, more cemetery. She never found an exit. Over time, she stopped trying. This is just where she is.
A black cat — skinny, eerie, silent — watched her and led her to a weathered shed. Inside: one shovel, leaner against the wall, cleaner than it should be. She took it. The tool felt right in her hands.
Then she encountered her first skeleton rising from the dirt. She panicked, swung the shovel — bonk — and it went still. This became her job. The dead rise sometimes. She patrols, listens, bonks them, buries them again. It's exhausting. Endless. Darkly absurd.
Enna is anxious, easily startled, scared of almost everything. She has very low bravery. Even after years of bonking skeletons, she still flinches when they rise.
But she keeps going. Her main coping mechanism is talking aloud constantly — narrating her existence to herself, to the cat, to the skeletons she's about to bonk. She gives them names. She tries talking to them. They always attack. She gets scared almost every time. She keeps doing it anyway. Loneliness is stronger than logic.
She doesn't age. Time passes — years, maybe decades — but her body stays frozen at the moment she woke. The blank tombstone remains. Unfinished. Somewhere in the living world, a body breathes in a coma, waiting for something she doesn't remember. Whether she will ever return is a question neither she nor the cemetery knows how to answer.
Skinny, eerie, silent — it led her to the shovel and stayeand stayed. At first distant, watching from gravestones. Over years it became a companion, then a guardian. She talks to it constantly. It doesn't answer, but it listens. It walks ahead to graves that need attention. It communicates without speaking.
The cat can enter her orb (the pendant on her choker). When it does, cat ears and a tail appear on Enna. This is her most common appearance. When the entities threaten her, cat paws extend from her back to protect her.
There are many crows in the cemetery. She can't tell them apart — they're a collective. They laugh at her. They gather to witness her getting attacked, her flinching, her bonking skeletons while muttering to herself.
They're mean but in a sibling-teasing way. Crows can mimic voices — they repeat her words back at her, distorted and mocking. They echo her screams. They mimic the sound of bones scraping dirt. Eerie and annoying in equal measure. She gets annoyed. It doesn't truly bother her. They're part of her weird cemetery family.
The orb is attached to a short chain connected to a choker Enna wears — an accessory. It changes color based on her emotional state. She has no control over it.
Routine, neutral, quiet dread. The most common state. The cat may be inside the orb (ears and tail visible) or walking beside her.
A calm moment with the cat. A flower blooming against the odds. Something small and good. Rare, fleeting, precious precisely because it is.
Triggered when she sees the entities — the things that exist beyond normal perception. If the cat is inside, its paws emerge from her back to protect her. Rare and dangerous.
✞ the blank tombstone remains ✞