Terrible music. Worse company. [Again, he sets to weaving, now that he's found a trail to follow. Thumb scraping along the inline of his index before rhythm settles in once more. Like that, it's a simple thing to remember all the rest. Two palatable half-lies, and a truth:]
The stave he used to drag around night and day— you could always hear him coming.
[So many days spent stilling his lungs and willing himself to vanish into stone— all for a little percussion. And the tailing dread thereafter.]
no subject
Razor blades.]
Terrible music. Worse company. [Again, he sets to weaving, now that he's found a trail to follow. Thumb scraping along the inline of his index before rhythm settles in once more. Like that, it's a simple thing to remember all the rest. Two palatable half-lies, and a truth:]
The stave he used to drag around night and day— you could always hear him coming.
[So many days spent stilling his lungs and willing himself to vanish into stone— all for a little percussion. And the tailing dread thereafter.]
....was magic yours?