Silence and Sleep [Castle Oblivion, Open]

Aug 17, 2006 21:20

The coat Zexion had given River fit more like a robe than a coat, and after he left her in the white bedroom, she wrapped it around herself without closing the zipper and pulled the hood far over her face. River liked the smell of leather, the smoothness that felt like oil but left no residue on her fingers.

If this place was home, River did not remember it. She'd expected some kind of warmth...not the warmth she absorbed from the coat, but something she couldn't name, something she'd occasionally felt brush by her in the ambient mood of Traverse Town. This building was not warm. The white walls reminded her of her first instinct about the lavender-haired man: if she touched them, she was certain her fingers would freeze. The air itself was a comfortable temperature, but she tightened the long jacket around her stomach. Its blackness was comforting. Even the white blanket on her bed seemed imbued with this coldness beyond cold.

Despite the absence of warmth, River was not uncomfortable in the new place. It was quiet, and her headache had faded to a barely noticeable ache behind her eyes. If anyone else lived here, she could not hear them, could not feel them.

Maybe home is not a place, but a sound. Or a lack of sound. Or a smell. She inhaled deeply the smell of leather, which pulled images of armchairs and sofas past the watery surface of memory. River would think about this later. Now, she stood and pulled the hood down further her head, still not bothering to zip it over the oversized clothing the man had given her. Given her slight figure, it seemed pointless. It provided more warmth held around her body with her arms. She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, uncertain as to which direction to take, but eventually turned left. Every wall was the same, every direction was the same. She wandered for hours, it seemed, finding only more doorways. The doorways were the same, though some places seemed touched with humanity. Small evidence, things that others might miss. A few stray silver hairs. Fingerprints in flour on the edge of a door, only visible because of the change of texture.

When tiredness struck, it was abrupt. The rooms were the same, and she saw no reason to return to the one Zexion had left her in. It was a place, and a room, but not her room, not her home. The other doors were locked but the hallway wasn't, so she pulled against the wall and tugged the hood more firmly over her head before wrapping her arms around her knees. It wasn't long before unconsciousness took over and her body slipped over, now curled on the floor with her back against the wall.

naminé, river tam

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