Ahaha!! Im glad whoever submitted liked them :-) hope this meets your expectations.

[You're Folly] A simple regular day of work.. His shift finally was over. Mannequin_Mark.. Or rather simply Mark arrived home. His smile was slightly faded. Oh how.. tired the poor guy was. But all of those workplace shenanigans were somewhat worth for the pay. He tossed his hard hat aside, laying it on his messy desk. A faint thud could be heard and the rustling of a few unsigned sheets. Mark laid himself on his "bed", in thought. Most of his thoughts were quite insignificant.. Such as his plans for tomorrow.. Does that wood for brains ever change? How dull.

Soon his dull void of a dream twisted into something.. Something more sinister. He tried to get up, logs replaced by a white plain field. He found himself in one of those stupid... Stupid dreams. Despite how many times this occurred.. He remained afraid as ever every single time. Mark didn't dared to speak.. As if that nightmare parasite wouldn't somehow locate him in this cruel space. It was futile and idiotic. A faint chuckle could be heard. Despite the quietness, that laugh of hers stil managed to threaten him. Mark wanted to leave.. Right now. Why can't his dreams be normal for once? A large cloud of smoke apeared before him, That cruel creature.. Folly, briefly enshrouded in that dark fog. Red eyes from those skies peered at the two figures. Why must this happen? As if he didn't go through enough. But maybe that is what she enjoys— Suffering.

"Why're ya here..?"

Mark crossed his arms, trying to appear unfased.. Yet he was unsure. He had a feeling of what would happen. That freak wanted to see others suffer.. Folly definitely had a large imagination and a wide range of topics to torment him with..

"'How have things been with your dear, little tree? Hmhmhm..."

He went briefly speechless.. He was angered... But he couldn't bring himself to do anything.

".. Er..? Things have been alright. Why must ya ask! I don't see a point. Me 'n em are long done."

Mark felt his stance stiffen more than usual. He felt tempted to throw a punch right there and there.. But he felt like he wasn't even in control. A puppet controlled by strings, almost. That topic she was going to go on with.. Yes, he was made of wood.. But his heart was like of tempered glass.