finn
it always feels more quiet in the dark
For all his love of routines, it isn't much of a surprise that Finn struggles to create new ones.
The last few days have passed in borrowed clothes, and any belongings they could scrape and salvage from his office and the Collegium have been ferried here, to a room in the White Hart. It's a different sort of discomfort to that which usually comes along with being in the Silk Houses, one that feels like an itchy sweater rather than being flayed alive.
But it's still discomfort, and so the days have melted by and the nights are spent fitfully, reading or staring at the ceiling and waiting for dawn.
This morning brings a fine rain falling outside the windows, and Finn sits at the rickety little table with a cup of coffee and moody blues staring out at the world. The initial surrender of his title, his compass, his obligation to any form of government had felt good, but now it's listlessness that smothers him. What now?
The last few days have passed in borrowed clothes, and any belongings they could scrape and salvage from his office and the Collegium have been ferried here, to a room in the White Hart. It's a different sort of discomfort to that which usually comes along with being in the Silk Houses, one that feels like an itchy sweater rather than being flayed alive.
But it's still discomfort, and so the days have melted by and the nights are spent fitfully, reading or staring at the ceiling and waiting for dawn.
This morning brings a fine rain falling outside the windows, and Finn sits at the rickety little table with a cup of coffee and moody blues staring out at the world. The initial surrender of his title, his compass, his obligation to any form of government had felt good, but now it's listlessness that smothers him. What now?
it always feels so stark
