Isn't it true that we are all just flesh and bone and blood? Often he feels like more than that, like while we're here we're also paddling down some mystic stream, carried mostly by the current but sometimes, sometimes steering ourselves a better path than chance alone would provide.
But don't we also, sometimes, feel like less than flesh and bone and blood? We feel every particle we're made of- and then we feel the space between those particles, the gaping holes that nobody sees. Maybe it isn't so far off to say he's on the brink of fading away like a ghost- that is what he once claimed to be, foolish man.
Instead of vanishing he steels himself in her eyes and focuses on the familiar, constant in and out of his breath, as he's learned to do years ago. He might flicker from time to time, but it would take more than some painful memories to snuff him out. When she says she understands he wonders how deeply her understanding goes- it seems like a half truth of sorts, although he does not know this for sure and he would not hold it against her. What else do you say to a grieving man?
She says she is not sure she can imagine a world without buildings, and there is amusement in the crease of his eyes. How different their two worlds are- one wonders how many lands there are with customs and traditions beyond their wildest dreams, worlds on the other side of a portal or across the formidable Terminus. The simplicity of his past life pleased him, even as his heart was called to new places. "I would show you if I could." And that is all he says of his homeland-- sharing personal information has never come easily to him and now, wounds reopened by memories, he is particularly wary.
All this feeling, this storm of emotion, is exhausting him and without realizing it he withdraws- mentally and emotionally. For all the ways she intrigues him, draws him in, his mind already feels impossibly full of things to mull over. He has the uncanny feeling that the future is unfurling before him, and if he's too slow to the trail he'll lose his way once more. So instead of pondering it now he memorizes the scene before him, the expression in her two-toned eyes, the hungry flicker of the candles, the smell of smoke and parchment. He stores as much as he can commit to memory, locks it away in the vault of his mind to be replayed another time.
Eik nods his head and turns from the warm glow of the library. His thoughts overflow and hit the floor as he walks away, landing with soft plops that only he can hear. The gentle sound reminds him of fat raindrops, and with every step a small ache in him grows larger and larger. The future looms, inescapable.
Only trust the story.
- E I K
@Seraphina <3 this was such a fun thread, thank you!
