FINN
and into the forest i go,
Finn lingers in the doorway like a ghost. His eyes flicker over the scene, both taking it in and recoiling from it all at once, feeling bile burn in the back of his throat. He can’t take his eyes off it all, because if he does - if he looks down at himself - he’ll see the pattern of bruises along his thighs, his hips, his biceps and shoulders. Marks of teeth and fingerprints, the shapes of hands adorning his body where clothes should be.
”I suppose I am,” he says from somewhere deep within himself. The pulse within the walls is screaming now, beating hard enough that surely this structure, black and dripping, must collapse under the weight of its horror. But Finn steps forward because he doesn’t know how to do anything else, reaching out to shut the door behind him and seal out the darkness. Or is he sealing it in? He’s not sure, at this point.
Somewhere outside this nightmare, the Spyglass is soaked with sweat and writhing in his bed, praying for wakefulness.
”I suppose I am,” he says from somewhere deep within himself. The pulse within the walls is screaming now, beating hard enough that surely this structure, black and dripping, must collapse under the weight of its horror. But Finn steps forward because he doesn’t know how to do anything else, reaching out to shut the door behind him and seal out the darkness. Or is he sealing it in? He’s not sure, at this point.
Somewhere outside this nightmare, the Spyglass is soaked with sweat and writhing in his bed, praying for wakefulness.
to lose my mind and find my soul
