FINN
the spyglass
it is only through mystery and madness
”Then cut the rope and end it all,” Finn says to the waves, unaware that the voice is coming from above him. His eyes, in fact, are on the fluttering mess on the jagged rock, and he swears he can see a splash of red here and there, a soft curl of dark hair. ”I have never caught a rabbit. Not before it’s cooked,” he mumbles, the gale tossing him to and fro, not that he notices. He’s more bruised and bloody as time goes on, but if anything the violence against himself brings him contentment.
”They weren’t trying. I am already caught,” he mumbles. Out in the great swathes of water, a structure begins to rise out of the waves. Finn knows it as the Tower, with its spiralling towers and gothic architecture, gargoyle and turrets a far as the eye can see. Within it he can swear they all watch him. They all look out at him hanging there, before the steep cliffs and his mother’s corpse.
”They weren’t trying. I am already caught,” he mumbles. Out in the great swathes of water, a structure begins to rise out of the waves. Finn knows it as the Tower, with its spiralling towers and gothic architecture, gargoyle and turrets a far as the eye can see. Within it he can swear they all watch him. They all look out at him hanging there, before the steep cliffs and his mother’s corpse.
that the soul is revealed
