[ the cat is like the vibration of a warm little sun. it purrs, as cats down when met with ceaseless attention, and curls in on the stoic lap it has taken shelter in. the stoic lap: alhaitham's fingers draw itself over the rough-hewn pages of the journal. it is the scent of paper and memory, of dust and a time long spent. it is a life lived condensed into the form of mere ink and paper; it is a life lived that alhaitham has never, and will never experience. alhaitham handles it with the reverence of a man picking through the scripture of something holy. his seeking fingers are not meant for the ears of a cat, who stretches and turns its body so it can sun its other side.
for kaveh, the mere briefest of flickers - as if attention is a finite resource meant to be conserved: ]
Why? So I can observe for myself my Servant running from battle, dogged, like a hunted criminal?
[ and then, in the same, bland tone: ] Which Servant?
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Date: 2023-06-06 03:47 am (UTC)for kaveh, the mere briefest of flickers - as if attention is a finite resource meant to be conserved: ]
Why? So I can observe for myself my Servant running from battle, dogged, like a hunted criminal?
[ and then, in the same, bland tone: ] Which Servant?