No.114280
>>114279did yourself, lazy
No.114281
>>114279sure when i get home
No.114283
>>114280do it yourself lazy. (sorry about ESL)
No.114342
There’s a children’s story they used to tell in the town of Breda, one that parents whispered only when they thought their children were asleep. It was a cautionary tale about vanity, secrets, and a girl who lost her face.
Her name was Nococo.
Or at least, that’s what people remember. No birth record, no family, no grave. Just the name… and the face that no one can describe.
They say she was once beautiful—breathtaking, even. She always wore a deep blue sweater with a golden scarf tied perfectly at her neck, her silver-white hair flowing like moonlight. She never spoke much, but her silence was charming, mysterious even. The other girls admired her. The boys adored her. Teachers said she was brilliant, but… distant.
One day, she stopped coming to school.
Rumors flew fast. Some said she moved away. Others swore they saw her walking into the woods behind the school, never to return. A few kids—braver or stupider than the rest—decided to go looking for her. Only one came back.
He was found curled up behind the gymnasium, his mouth gaping open, eyes bloodshot and wide with terror. He didn’t speak for weeks. When he finally did, all he said was:
“She doesn’t have a face. She took them… She’s still taking them.”
He never said anything else, and eventually, he was institutionalized.
That’s when the legend of Nococo began to spread.
They say she lives between the walls of forgotten places—abandoned classrooms, dusty libraries, old basements. You’ll never hear her footsteps. No breathing. Just the sudden, icy hush of a room gone dead quiet.
If you hear a whisper, soft and scratchy like wind through cracked wood, don’t answer. Don’t even move. It means she’s near, and she’s listening.
They say Nococo envies faces. She collects them. Not literally—at least, not always. She takes what makes a face: expression, voice, identity. You’ll be left like her. A blank slate. A shadow with no soul.
Witnesses—few and far between—describe seeing her just before their memories begin to fray. A figure with flowing white hair, a golden scarf tied too tightly, and a void where a face should be. Not just featureless—faceless. As though she never had one to begin with. Or maybe she had yours, once.
Her image has appeared in places it shouldn't. In class photos where no one remembers posing. In mirrors when the room is empty. In dreams that don’t belong to you.
She is not a ghost.
She is not a girl anymore.
Nococo is a void. A whisper of something that once wanted to be known—and now feeds on those who are.
They say if you say her name three times while looking at an old school portrait, she’ll come to finish what she started.
But don’t be stupid.
You’re not curious enough to try that…
Right?
No.114344
>>114342Gemmy drawing, everycoco likes it
No.114349
>>114342I say this is gemmy
No.114361
>>114342Also whatever you do, DONT DRAW A DICK ON HER FACE WITH CHALK
I did that and now im in a brazilian favela being gangraped by northeastern mullatto niggers
No.114428
everycoco cares about this