It is easy to lose himself in the depths of his thoughts, to feel the cosmos of his mind unravel and break apart as stars explode to supernovas. There are black holes opening and tearing at the walls of his subconscious and cracking at his brain. Iliad doesn’t run from it, he stares down the void and cradles himself in its emptiness. For the moment, it is comforting to rest in the embrace of his own consciousness and drift in the stories that paint his memories. Solitude makes him weary, solitude makes him think and there are times he doesn’t like it. Iliad grows existential in the isolation. There is nothing but dusk air and the sound of a rushing river, the quiet lull of the water as he lay tucked beneath the shade of a tree. His wings are tucked tightly at his side, head leaning against the trunk as his banjo rest at his side. He looks down at the instrument and then uses his telekinesis, strumming quiet cords and he shuts his eyes. Maybe it is boredom that is keeping him locked in the trance. Both eyes open again and he removes the banjo from around his body and stands up.
Iliad steps towards the water and then takes a couple steps back. He stretches out his wings and gets a running start before he takes a leap towards the water, creating a great splash as his body hits it. Cool water hits his skin and causes a glisten in the fading light of the day. He flails his wings and droplets fly off of the pale appendages. A grin passes over his lips but he remains quiet, no sound passing from his mouth before he sighs. Even the brief reprieve from the loneliness isn’t enough, it tugs at him and he shuts his eyes and just feels the water race against his skin.
Iliad
And I may go to places I have never been to
Just to find the deepest desires in my mind
