memory’s so treacherous
Finn doesn't know what he expects to find on the page about himself, only that upon reading it - and it doesn't take long, honestly - he can feel the foundations of himself twist and clench in response. His fingers twitch around his pen, and the urge to change and alter the entry is nearly overwhelming. To correct, perhaps. Or to merely scribble out the truth until he doesn't have to think about it any longer.
Then there's an owl on his arm, and the room seems to brighten and soften again as Finn's concentration breaks. "Hm? Oh... yes. I suppose that was an oversight of mine," he agrees, thoroughly engrossed in the book at this point. He moves to the section indicated to be the machine, resisting the urge to stroke his fingers over Artemide's feathers.
Then there's an owl on his arm, and the room seems to brighten and soften again as Finn's concentration breaks. "Hm? Oh... yes. I suppose that was an oversight of mine," he agrees, thoroughly engrossed in the book at this point. He moves to the section indicated to be the machine, resisting the urge to stroke his fingers over Artemide's feathers.
one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights
the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go
FINN
