Neron
the wind breathes lonely
longing to be seen
longing to be seen
The petal, it seems, is an even more unpleasant experience than the water had been. Neron is very unhappy to learn this, though he can’t really do much about it as he collapses into the snow to try and bring up something that just won’t come. (Mainly because there’s nothing there). He hisses out a curse in the end, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth, and he can feel Morgan’s touch as a faint pressure on his shoulder, horrifically void of pleasure. But he can imagine that it might be there, if he tries hard enough.
”You tried,” he rasps; the unpleasantness has shocked him into lucidity, it seems, however brief it may be. ”I can’t see, though. Not well.” So saying, his fingers grope for Morgan’s against his shoulder, gripping them gently. ”Would you lead us home, please?”
”You tried,” he rasps; the unpleasantness has shocked him into lucidity, it seems, however brief it may be. ”I can’t see, though. Not well.” So saying, his fingers grope for Morgan’s against his shoulder, gripping them gently. ”Would you lead us home, please?”
sometimes the soul
has days like these
has days like these
