when you bury your pain
Finn isn’t looking at Remi when he answers, but he feels like the other man will be able to see the way he smiles - a sad, almost resigned sort of thing - or see the way he closes his eyes. His shoulders sag somewhat, hands balled in his pockets. ”Both,” he echoes. ”It depends on what I’m measuring, too. So you see - five years between us is not all that different, is it?” Had Finn hoped he would say anything other than that? Anything other than to admit to the same enigmatic see-saw that the Spyglass also balanced upon? Or had he been hoping for it.
Clearing his throat, he blinks his eyes back open and starts to trek northwest, trusting himself to find Mort’s daughter. ”I’m not sure,” he says of seeing other things. ”Sometimes I see aura when I’m not wearing he spectacles. I swear I could see hands reaching for Delphia - lost souls, looking to be soothed.” He scoffs. ”It’s difficult to tell, these days, what the glasses show me and what I am filling in myself.”
Clearing his throat, he blinks his eyes back open and starts to trek northwest, trusting himself to find Mort’s daughter. ”I’m not sure,” he says of seeing other things. ”Sometimes I see aura when I’m not wearing he spectacles. I swear I could see hands reaching for Delphia - lost souls, looking to be soothed.” He scoffs. ”It’s difficult to tell, these days, what the glasses show me and what I am filling in myself.”
THE SPYGLASS
you only strengthen its roots
