[private] i'll fall into the sea, but still i'll swim to shore
[It's been a rough day, to put it mildly. Light finally got out of the idiot room, in the end - it was four hours, but felt more like twelve - and caught a couple of hours' sleep in the fish room.
Which didn't exactly go well. So he's feeling tired, chewed up with frustration, today, and looking peaky - though still, it's not as bad as it was: so far to fall, again, before he can carry on to the downward slope. His hair is still sticking out at the back, a little: besides that, the only visible damage is to the left side of his face, which is bruised from when he was thrown to the ground.
So he's a little preoccupied: while he's not yet back into that ghostly drift from place to place, his mind is already closer than, perhaps, it should be: he doesn't clearly remember what he dreamed about last night, but he feels, somewhere, as if he's stuck in tar, with no way out.
And when he opens his bedroom door - a glance left, and right, as if he's crossing the road, before he steps through behind the glittery green cross; his room marks the door for him, and he can't fathom its taste - the door closes behind him before he notices this is the wrong room.
He recognises it straight away: it's the point of view room. Not that he'd forget it anyway, but this one ... this room was strange. And he's alone.
And the door's disappeared.]
[[OOC: private to cipherhood]]
Which didn't exactly go well. So he's feeling tired, chewed up with frustration, today, and looking peaky - though still, it's not as bad as it was: so far to fall, again, before he can carry on to the downward slope. His hair is still sticking out at the back, a little: besides that, the only visible damage is to the left side of his face, which is bruised from when he was thrown to the ground.
So he's a little preoccupied: while he's not yet back into that ghostly drift from place to place, his mind is already closer than, perhaps, it should be: he doesn't clearly remember what he dreamed about last night, but he feels, somewhere, as if he's stuck in tar, with no way out.
And when he opens his bedroom door - a glance left, and right, as if he's crossing the road, before he steps through behind the glittery green cross; his room marks the door for him, and he can't fathom its taste - the door closes behind him before he notices this is the wrong room.
He recognises it straight away: it's the point of view room. Not that he'd forget it anyway, but this one ... this room was strange. And he's alone.
And the door's disappeared.]
[[OOC: private to cipherhood]]