Nate !
Every year, Nathaniel almost doesn't come. And every year, he finds himself drawn to the festival anyway. He skims over the crowd with dark eyes, silent, looking for someone he is happy to see. How many of them made it through another year? How many didn't? Though Nathaniel himself is yet to partake in the frivolity, he feels distant parts of himself slowly thawing. There is a kind of medicine in laughter, in togetherness. He doesn't understand it, but he is happy to soak it in.
So Nathaniel wanders, skirting one conversation and another, hoping maybe to spy Amalia, or Rexanna, or even Adam (whatever happened to Adam?). Is it too much to hope they all survive? Too much to hope for proof? Even if none of them care to see him, he just wants to know they're alive. Proof of a little light left in the world.
So Nathaniel wanders, skirting one conversation and another, hoping maybe to spy Amalia, or Rexanna, or even Adam (whatever happened to Adam?). Is it too much to hope they all survive? Too much to hope for proof? Even if none of them care to see him, he just wants to know they're alive. Proof of a little light left in the world.
