Jennifer Bhulher

'"Jen," "Helms"'

Played by: Ember16

INFORMATION

Mortal, Female, 24

Aliases: ERROR 404 Not Found
Nationality: American
Residence: ERROR: 500 Internal Server Error
Employer: ERROR 404 Not Found
Function: ERROR 404 Not Found

[[Category:ERROR 404 Not Found]]

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• BUZZING •

• Illuminati Files •

• Templar Files •

JENNIFER HELMS BHULHER

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TRANSMIT - musical chairs signal - RECEIVE - initiate verbose frequency - HOW IS A RAVEN LIKE A WRITING DESK? - initiate poetic licence - WITNESS - Jennifer Bhulher

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Please stay tuned for a MESSAGE from your GLORIOUS HIVE.

OBSERVE: a woman. She is connected to something, like you with us, Sweetling. We feel bountiful kinship in this way to her, though her bond is far less intricately woven. The comparison is difficult to your squishy, fragile brain-things. We tried to explain it once but it caused too many buggy incongruencies in your hardware. How then to make you see in front of what is beyond your focal lenses? Think of a mother nurturing its children, that is what we are. However this -404 ERROR- is a parasite. It does not nurture, it is the COOKIE file of the things that live in the dark, cold void between stars.

There are many names for the thing. The things you named it were wrong, but the things we name it make your tongues curl in and eat themselves like snakes. We settle then for your convention, Sweetlings, for we are most distressed when you lose your wiggly mouth appendages. You have called it “spirit” or “madness,” or “poltergeist” or “demon,” it is again none of these things. You should know this.

As for the female, inconsequential at first investigation. Her record is like a woven tapestry gone over by a fine tooth comb. But we saw the discrepancies, small though they were. Things that should be are not, things that are not, are, and things that are, should not be. We tickle our humming vibrations at the quandary. We see all, you see nothing. We wish you could see, Sweetling. It would make this data transfer more expedient, less prone to buggys nesting in your brain things. Read the magnum opus of damnation, the witching hour be upon us, DAMNED SPOT, DAMNED SPOT. We tell you of crows nesting at a blue-red tree. The branches are dying. We see a two faced god pull a key as ink spills like blood on the page and a cadaver tumbles down a rabbit hole.

We wish you could see, Sweetling. The orgy of slime climbs the ethereal strands you vanquish, yet still you are blind to our uploads. Rest now, Sweetling. Rest and see. 

WE NOW RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING.

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