*Psychic imprint of a desire for a better mode of communication*

*Psychic imprint of a desire for a better mode of communication*

*An awareness… knowledge… an introduction… intimate mutual understanding… changing… becoming… living.*

*A sense of familiarity… learning… *

*Flashes of memory… frustration. Ostracization.*

*Frustration… annoyance… unfair… sadness… longing* *Pleading. Emotional appeal*

*A familiarity… yet different… looking at oneself through different lenses*

*An exchange of ideas… inability to join in despite desire… being stranger… loneliness*

*Memory of a place… familiarity… communication… a sense of urgency… fixing… an exchange… want.*

*×÷¢^¢×`÷`√¶`¶¢=`✓¢¶¢=¢^¢×¢=°`√`* (untranslatable)

Post automatically translated to text as this dimension doesn’t yet support direct psychic exchange of concepts.

There is a Hunger.

The Hunger grows ever stronger, biting, gnawing at him.

What construct of flesh and bone can satiate it?

Only the Naergloan.

He offers only this exchange: A memory of a picnic and the life-debt of the Dog-Child in return for the Naergloan, or best offer.

[Relayed Message From R4920 by The Evergrowing Hunger]

I don’t have a son, willing to sell

For clarification, there is something in my house calling me ‘father’, but I don’t have a son. The eyes are deep black with no white, anywhere — and he sounds like three people at once.

It took me three days upon his arrival to realise I don’t have a son, nor am I married to a broom.

If alien trafficking was illegal in my dimension I don’t know what I’d do — but fortunately for a lucky buyer, you can have your own son.

Be warned, he may ask after state secrets and classified information. YOU DO NOT NEED TO TELL HIM. DO NOT TELL HIM. DO NOT.

Please hurry up, hell, I’ll accept offers as low as fifteen dollars. Just get him out of my house before he puts hot wax in my ears again while I sleep!