it’s been months since the hour of joy has passed and the food has started to run out to the point the toys turn on each other. The dogday plush only merely survived an attack from a baba chop plush, limping with a button eye hanging off its face. It whimpers in each step, blood dripping behind in a trail. It enters a room and eats at a dead plush before hearing footsteps. It turns and growls, backing to a corner as it tries to stand taller despite being so small