Some writing regarding the Punishment Forest...

...which is the new, official-ish name of the Argos Forest. It's what Hakiara and Ky and any other divine being who knows of it calls it. (And you're just like WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?!)

Anyway. Did this for creative writing. I got away with having no "you"s in it even though it has commands, mwahahahaha. I can't help it. Ky wanted to be direct. VERY direct. Haven't actually gotten it back, yet, but she read it beforehand and didn't say anything. i r sneaky.
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Punishment Forest; or, Welcome to a Private Hell

Anyone peripherally familiar with the Punishment Forest would first describe the eyes of the trees. They bulge out of the trees just as eyes bulge out of an ordinary head. They never blink during the day; they focus on whomever is before them, symbolizing the ever-watching eyes of Hakiara, the great goddess—praise her kindness and mercy, as the little Liar would say. Their glowing teal irises roll in the wooden sockets. They stare; they criticize; they blame.
The only form of sustenance in that forest is a bland but edible moss that grows naturally—if anything there is natural—over the ground. It is springy under the feet and grainy to the tongue. To harvest it, one must scrape it out of the gray silt with one’s fingernails. There is no way to completely rid the moss of dust, but the dust is just as bland as the moss, so it makes little difference.
These are all casual observations; one would have to spend a lifetime there to understand the subtleties of that cursed place. Now, let me reveal some aspects of the Punishment Forest that few ever discover.
Breathe in: the air is tasteless. My sister—praise her kindness and mercy—was not careless or lazy when she created this forest. She was economical. She left out some aspects of reality, like the subtle taste of one's surroundings on the wind. Her victims never realize why the air seems so strange; they know only that something is wrong, and it makes them uncomfortable. She does not let them forget that they are set apart in their own private hell.
Next, breathe out. Quickly! The air poisons the mind. It flushes out personalities and convictions and fills the resultant shell-person with shame of past sins and a healthy fear of Hakiara, praise her kindness and mercy. It induces nightmares. It haunts.
After a long day in the stagnant, windless forest, finally dusk falls. The trees’ eyes close to sleep, like the petals of a tulip. The leaves of these trees, which during the day filter the sun through a green canopy, also close at night, granting moonlight to my sister's cursed victims. In the moonlight, sleep claims those victims; they dream, and they remember their sins. The screams begin about an hour after the trees' eyes close. Steady sobs ripple out of children's mouths as from a stone thrown into a pond. Their parents cannot comfort them because they are trapped in their own nightmares; deep, adult screams shred the air and the ear and the heart. Adults should have pride. Adults should not scream like that, so guiltily and helplessly. But in the Punishment Forest, they do.
And in the morning, everyone awakes, dries his or her eyes, and falls under the scrutiny of the trees again.