// the edge is getting closer, it's a long spiral down. it's so fun to fly 'til you hit the ground
i think i'm getting too close, i think i'm getting too close //
i think i'm getting too close, i think i'm getting too close //
“We’re dreaming.” Had it been a dream within a dream? That his… Supposed dream death had woken him to a bright day with swaying grasses? What would he find when he fully woke? The idea of more blood has his jaw clenching, fingers tightening into a fist at his side as he tells Ronin he wanted to go home. He doesn’t understand how the Star trails off, why he doesn’t have whatever it is. Nor does he care, really, not as he pauses when the world begins to shift again and he’s absentmindedly reaching for his neck again, to feel the thundering heartbeat there.
He knows this place. He’s dreamed of this place. He dreamt of it long before meeting Ronin and arriving in Caido’s terrible embrace. But it was the only place that had drawn him comfort for so many years, when he hopped house to house, slept on a cot in the cool, moist underground of the resistance, when he imagined he’d build a place just like it for his sister and he, where his father could never find them again. His hand drops and he huffs out a shuddering breath, stepping toward the table to sink down in a chair, shoulders slumping and hands rising to cradle his hands. “Yes.” He pauses, unsure of how to continue, his breathing a bit jagged as he tries to piece together what happened. “So we wait until we wake?” It goes against his mind, against what he wants, unable to look at Ronin even as his hands leave his face to thread together in his lap, staring at the wood grain of the table.
He knows this place. He’s dreamed of this place. He dreamt of it long before meeting Ronin and arriving in Caido’s terrible embrace. But it was the only place that had drawn him comfort for so many years, when he hopped house to house, slept on a cot in the cool, moist underground of the resistance, when he imagined he’d build a place just like it for his sister and he, where his father could never find them again. His hand drops and he huffs out a shuddering breath, stepping toward the table to sink down in a chair, shoulders slumping and hands rising to cradle his hands. “Yes.” He pauses, unsure of how to continue, his breathing a bit jagged as he tries to piece together what happened. “So we wait until we wake?” It goes against his mind, against what he wants, unable to look at Ronin even as his hands leave his face to thread together in his lap, staring at the wood grain of the table.
it's hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands
SUNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
