what the wood whispers to itself
You're out of sorts and so you've just been wandering. For how long? You aren't sure. Given that you're always a bit of a mess (unbrushed hair, unwashed hands), it's hard to tell from your appearance if your general state of disarray has culminated over a few hours, or if you've simply woken up this way.
(It's the first one.)
You aren't wearing shoes and there are blisters on your feet, not that you've noticed. Your eyes see nothing, though they're wide and bright blue, staring without seeing at the cobblestones ahead of you. Your notebook is open, grasped clumsily in one hand and you're talking to yourself. Nonsense, probably.
(It's the first one.)
You aren't wearing shoes and there are blisters on your feet, not that you've noticed. Your eyes see nothing, though they're wide and bright blue, staring without seeing at the cobblestones ahead of you. Your notebook is open, grasped clumsily in one hand and you're talking to yourself. Nonsense, probably.
OIA'I'O
