FINN
He likes the sound of he voice, a faint smile touching to his lips as he turns a stormy gaze back down at her. If he’s surprised by the twists of lilac in her golden hair (he isn’t) he doesn’t show it, Finn more accustomed than not to visual disturbances even when he isn’t bespectacled. Especially now, when he hasn’t really rested in days, it’s hardly surprising and even less alarming to him.
”Without the Old Gods,” he repeats, utterly unable to imagine such a thing. He exhales softly and lets his eyes slip shut, as if the weight of his own thoughts is too much. ”I cannot imagine a life like that. How did it feel when they were finally present again, for you? When the heralds were freed?” Beautiful and terrible, is the world. That is how Finn has come to experience it.
”I imagine, too, that there must have been some guilt. For the Voice being free as well...”
”Without the Old Gods,” he repeats, utterly unable to imagine such a thing. He exhales softly and lets his eyes slip shut, as if the weight of his own thoughts is too much. ”I cannot imagine a life like that. How did it feel when they were finally present again, for you? When the heralds were freed?” Beautiful and terrible, is the world. That is how Finn has come to experience it.
”I imagine, too, that there must have been some guilt. For the Voice being free as well...”
