yellow flicker beat // open, ghost

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Lazarus had been through enough that nothing could really scare him anymore. The Corso sweated out fevers and fought for his life — nothing about a place would make him cower. Concern him, though? Perhaps. And something about this place did make his skin prickle. He didn't like it, being outside was safer. But lately he had been doing his best to stay here, indoors. Be a part of things. It hasn't worked too well. Lately he'd been prone to starting fires at the smallest of inconveniences. His temper flared, there's a fire. Someone startled him, there's a fire. Scars are starting to form around his paws, raised pink patches of skin. Everything was hot, everything burned. Tonight, at least, the fire is quiet too. He walks around just to feel the cool floor underneath him, and ends up with something he had never expected. He was never really a believer.

Cropped ears pin backwards against the strong shape of his head. I didn't do it. I didn't do it. I didn't do it. His own heart starts to race, an unappealing taste flooding his mouth, bitter and rotten. His experiences weren't the same, couldn't be applied to this stranger's life, but the words tether them together. After a moment of feeling glued to the floor, the dog barks — the noise is rough and wordless, surprisingly soft and low, but dragging from his throat as he takes a few steps closer. "What's going on?"