memory’s so treacherous
"I get that more often than you might think," Finn says with the shadow of a smile on his face. Where once the recognition would have groaned beneath his skin like bone against bone, or like a wire pulled far too taut, these days it's little more than an acknowledgement of the strange nature of genetics. No drowning. No knives. No bloody feasts at tables where they sit with a dozen versions of themselves. Still, even mention of Remi outright is like an invitation, like a slip of silk tossed across a chasm, daring him to tiptoe over it and back into the mouth of madness.
Still, it's enough to hear that he looks like he's gotten enough sleep to look normal for Finn to step back from that chasm to set his book down on a nearby table - after memorising the page number - and go to help Flora with her papers. "Yes, I am," he says with another gentle nod. "And you are Mateo's sister, yes? And Queen of Torchline." He adds a small and respectful inclination of his head at that.
Gathering star charts and maps and various other bits of paper, he also reaches for the sorry looking, empty binder nearby. "What kind of a gift?" he asks, softly curious.
Still, it's enough to hear that he looks like he's gotten enough sleep to look normal for Finn to step back from that chasm to set his book down on a nearby table - after memorising the page number - and go to help Flora with her papers. "Yes, I am," he says with another gentle nod. "And you are Mateo's sister, yes? And Queen of Torchline." He adds a small and respectful inclination of his head at that.
Gathering star charts and maps and various other bits of paper, he also reaches for the sorry looking, empty binder nearby. "What kind of a gift?" he asks, softly curious.
one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights
the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go
FINN
