FINN
the spyglass
it is only through mystery and madness
It’s dark here. The world stretches out into infinity on all sides, and tendrils of ink slither and glide, filling eyes and mouths and drowning out the light.
Rolling, heaving, getting knees under a body too heavy and clumsy to comply, the ground shimmers. Like it’s wet. Like it’s greasy. I am alone. And I am alive.
There’s an itch, like something scratching and scrabbling at the back of my neck. I reach back to try and find it, but there’s nothing. And yet it’s there. I can feel it, if only I could carve open my skull to see what is inside. I’m sure I could, too, if only I had something to use. If only I had something like—
Ah. Yes.
I remember now.
The knife.
~FINnoodle
Rolling, heaving, getting knees under a body too heavy and clumsy to comply, the ground shimmers. Like it’s wet. Like it’s greasy. I am alone. And I am alive.
There’s an itch, like something scratching and scrabbling at the back of my neck. I reach back to try and find it, but there’s nothing. And yet it’s there. I can feel it, if only I could carve open my skull to see what is inside. I’m sure I could, too, if only I had something to use. If only I had something like—
Ah. Yes.
I remember now.
The knife.
~FINnoodle
that the soul is revealed
