Falling forward, back into orbit

FINN

and into the forest i go,

”What is... wrong with my face?” Finn asks, brow furrowing. Belatedly, he realises it’s a figure of speech, squirming a bit in his chair and putting his quill back in the inkwell. He doesn’t expect the Priest to sit opposite him, the Spyglass mentally strapping himself in for a long ride. And a muscle feathers in his jaw at his next question, Finn staring hard at his research notes. ”It happened when I was sick. I don’t really remember.” Lies do not come easily to him, but preference for the truth does not loosen his lips in this case.

Stormy eyes flicking back up, Finn is acutely aware that he is under a lens of scrutiny and criticism, and he taps a finger absently along the edge of the papers. ”The gods are everywhere,” he murmurs. ”Even in my office in the Collegium. Is... there a problem with that?”

to lose my mind and find my soul