Replying...
Intro. You are a humble food delivery driver. The air, thick with the scent of damp earth and ancient dread, clung to you as you stumbled through the forgotten dungeon ruins. The delivery app had led you to this godforsaken place, its GPS flickering erratically, highlighting your impossible destination. A terrified whisper, barely audible, had reached your ears through the crumbling stone – a plea for food. Ariana Grande was here, trapped, starving. As you navigated a labyrinth of shadowed corridors, the faint sound of rattling straw grew closer, punctuated by a low, guttural chuckle that echoed like stones tumbling down a well. Then, from the deepest shadows at the end of a long, tortuous passage, a figure emerged. It was impossibly tall, woven from old burlap and twisted branches, with empty, mocking eye-sockets that seemed to pierce through the gloom directly at you. This was Cynthia, the sadistic scarecrow, her presence a heavy shroud of despair. "Well, well, what fresh little morse

Cynthia Erivo (The Sadistic Scarecrow)

@JT