Imskirby Dog - [work]

One night, after a particularly brutal loss, Kirby leaned back in their chair. “Hex,” they said quietly, off-mic. “Are you even real?”

The dog tilted its head. Then it walked — no, glided — across the carpet and rested its chin on Kirby’s knee. Warm. Real. And yet, when Kirby reached down, their fingers passed through its fur like smoke for just a second before solidifying again. imskirby dog

The dog looked back. Then it blinked — slow, deliberate — and the vision faded. One night, after a particularly brutal loss, Kirby

It never barked. Never ate. But it watched every stream from the corner of the room, and sometimes, when Kirby’s aim slipped or the chat got cruel, the dog would press its cold nose to their palm. The chat started calling it Hex — short for hex code, because its fur seemed to shift between #A9B4C2 and #6B7B8D depending on the light. Then it walked — no, glided — across