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It was the beginning of her last year in college. There were plenty of things to think about. Her days were clouded with nagging doubts about how she would progress with the rest of her life. Her line of work was an easy reminder of how little the girl meant to the world.

It was hard to feel significant in the world when she spent her days folding lingerie into little bins and assisting people into dressing rooms.

Topher was good at easing her concerns via the phone, but the girl wasn't the sort to live on her phone at all times. So his words couldn't comfort her on her most difficult days.

"...I... I just don't want to sell underwear for the rest of my life..." she sniffled a bit as she thought over the subject while walking to the bus stop after her shift.

One of the last customers had been particularly upsetting to the quiet girl. She insisted that Yvette sort through the underwear for a particular pattern the customer had seen that was in a size way too small for their frame. Yvette had sorted through the underwear as the customer rudely belittled her to her friends. Apparently Yvette was completely incompetent for not being able to locate a pair of underwear that did not exist in their stock in her size.

Not only had they closed late, but the girl's already frail self esteem was bruised.

"...I wonder if Bo is still up...?" As she sat down upon the bench at the stop, she rubbed at her nose. Topher might have been prone to talking and going off topic, but he was willing to listen if Yvette needed to talk.

And after today, Yvette needed to talk.

It wasn't often that she had someone riding the bus with her at this time. Though she was typically glad for it, the girl would usually keep to herself. Her problems, her burdens in life, were never the problems of a stranger. Yvette had never been a Chatty Cathy.

However, when the man who had taken residence on the bench spoke up, Yvette's cheeks couldn't help but turn red.

"...I-is... is it that obvious?" She glanced to the man and took in his appearance. Where as she was easily at the end of her day, this man looked as if he was just starting his. In that way, he reminded her of her father, who frequently would have evening shifts in construction.

If she were a bit more bold she'd ask him plenty of questions. The typical conversational questions. If he was heading to work, what did he do for a living, those sorts of questions. However, meek little Yvette remained upon her seat, looking at the man with doe-eyes, uncertain if she should even say anything more.

"Ah..." was her simple response to his mention of his occupation. She might have been 22 years old, but she was still too much of a child in regards to many more mature activities out there. Drinking was definitely not high on her list of things to do, so it would make sense she didn't understand the intricacies of the "occupational sixth sense" that he spoke of.

It was rare for people to ask the quiet girl to talk about her own grievances. So many assumed she just didn't talk that they didn't offer such niceties.

"...I... I just had a really stressful day at work..." was all she managed to squeak out before an unwelcome, but familiar sensation began to run down her spine.

Her already quiet voice shrank even further with a whimpered "...no... not now... not again..."

The sound of skin peeling from flesh wasn't something you heard often or typically were able to recognize. Yet the squelch and suction of skin peeling from meat was coming from the darkness. The stench of sewer and rotting flesh filled the air as plops of something large and wet his the ground.

The croak that seemed to boom towards the pair.

The wet plops of sagging fat and flesh got closer as what looked like a large amphibian, skinless in places, eyes protruding from every wart, and a trail of mucus behind it, finally arriving.

As it opened it's maw to let out it's tongue fold out, rows of sharp teeth lined its mouth, going far into the back of it's throat.

It's two main eyes focused not on the man, but on the woman, it's tongue lifting slightly in her direction.

On his worst day, Eli was not capable of abandoning a young girl who he'd just inwardly described as a good kid in need of pudding. He might have only been a parent for a few years running, but a parent he was nonetheless; his paternal instincts were strong. And whatever had happened to this girl in her life, the phrase they never do boded extremely ill.

Almost as ill as the literal giant demonic frog.

Eli felt faint for a minute. No part of his life had ever, ever prepared him for a giant demonic frog -- not even watching On Demand episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba at three-thirty in the morning when one of his daughters was more awake than he was. Brobee was pretty creepy, but he wasn't this creepy.

Jesus Christ. This was real, right?

A hard pinch to his own arm seemed to be as much confirmation to the situation's realness as he could really expect to get. Setting his bag and cell phone down on the bench, Eli stood up to put himself between the young girl and the frog, like someone trying to interrupt a fractured fairy tale coming to pass.

He looked back to Yvette for a moment, shaking his head. "Not a chance, kiddo. We're leaving together or not at all. Get a move on, alright? I'll be right behind you."

Eli had no actual idea how he was going to accomplish the latter part of that instruction. As far as he could tell, staring down the giant creature, this was about as likely as saying, 'You go on ahead, I'm just going to wrestle a bear for a few minutes and then I'll catch up, easy-peasy!'

He was in good shape -- true -- but he was not in bear-wrestling shape, and this looked neither easier nor peasier than that.

"I-i... I can't!"

It might have been quiet, but the conviction to her tone revealed that it wasn't simply fear of the monsters. It wasn't that she was afraid to move. It was because there was truly something wrong with her.

Yvette did not even attempt to prove the facts, vouching to remain upon the bus stop bench to maintain some level of dignity. This particular monster, however, was making her stomach rather queasy. Her cheeks felt as if they had turned green from the combination of all the sounds and disgusting sights coming from the frog-beast.

"...b-be... be careful..." she squeaked out just a few seconds before the frog lashed out at the man.

She jerked from her seat, clutching a hand to her chest, letting out a pitiful squeak instead of the scream she should have let out. "No!"

What could she do about this whole thing? She was useless, always had been, and always would be!

And with such an optimistic thought in mind, she soon enough found something sticky constricting around her throat. She hadn't even seen the tongue lash out towards her, but now she could feel as the air was gradually getting choked off. Her hands desperately clawed at the wet appendage restraining her, pulling her off the bench and onto the ground.

"...s-stop... p-please..."

The prehensile tongue continued its work, sliding around its prey's body until she was safely close. The saliva covered muscle stopped once the end reached her chest, just near her heart.

While the frog's mouth remained opened, and in fact widened to the point of nearly being unhinged, it ceased pulling her in. Rather, the end of the tongue suddenly bore a seam that had previously been flushed with the structure that ripped open, dripping viscous and foul smelling liquid with no consideration.

It was a smaller mouth, one that sported rows and rows of teeny, needle like teeth and erupted a joyous, gurgling squeal at freedom, and then gave a few little, squeaky snaps as if to test its capabilities. It plunged in, but not to rip out her heart. The end of the youma tongue sprang up, holding Yvette's glowing starseed instead.

It quickly started unwrapping itself, seeking to retract the long cord of muscle into its main jaws.

There was very little time for Dionysia to process what was happening. One moment, he was grabbing a pinecone on a stick out of thin air and transforming into a ... page of the... cosmos ...? And the next, the giant frog monster seemed to have thrown the young girl backward and punched her hard in the sternum with its tongue, something clutched in its hold. She had -- passed out, he guessed. It was all pretty alarming.

Whatever the case, he was worried things might get even worse. So, thinking to take advantage of the monster's distraction and whatever was clutched in its grasp, Dionysia raced forward and grabbed the monster by the long, squiggly neck of its slimy tongue, using his other hand to try and rip the little glowy bauble free of its -- its, ah -- its tongue-teeth. Eugh.