sleep doesn't help if it's your soul that's tired
It's business as usual again, for Finn. Working hard, playing just as hard (if one counts the guitar as playing) and sleeping barely at all. He's cleaning his glasses as he heads up to his apartments in the Tower, the Spyglass carefully tucking them away and brushing his curls out of his face with the back of his hand. Under his arm, he holds a few older tomes from the Archive - various tales about Voice shrines from before the cataclysm.
There's a yawn that wants to build at the back of his throat, and he stifles it as he reaches the doors to his rooms. He's had to replace the book where he usually keeps his key, having found it shaken to bits and missing more than a few pages on his return after he'd been ill. Now the key lives in a book about owls, Finn fishing it out and unlocking the door to step inside.
There's a yawn that wants to build at the back of his throat, and he stifles it as he reaches the doors to his rooms. He's had to replace the book where he usually keeps his key, having found it shaken to bits and missing more than a few pages on his return after he'd been ill. Now the key lives in a book about owls, Finn fishing it out and unlocking the door to step inside.
FINN
