9. Connection
Spider webs. Stronger than steel, but pale in comparison to the connection he feels to everything around him. If he closes his eyes, he can see the glow of each blade of grass, every ant that craws on every tree on every hill, and it nearly blinds him. He would be blind, deaf, and mute, if he weren't used to seeing such life. He would go mad if he weren't used to each life he crushed under each footstep.
Whirlpools. Each strand flows and undulates, bumping against his skin before nudging, the apology of an old friend. Green eyes alight with amusement; even the connections have life and strength and will, and it is all he can do to keep himself from bending to that monsoon of intent.
Sparks. If each blade of grass holds this much intent, how does he keep himself from being lost in others like him, or his people? He is unsure, but a voice whispers in the back of his mind each time he considers losing himself in those connections. The web is soft, but eternal, it says. Avoid it, and you will be as well.
Pulses. The connections thrummed, filled him with a heartbeat that was not his own, the deep bass resonating with consciousness and conflict, and it was not unlike music. He could almost hear the lyrics, if he listened closely enough. Do you remember, kissing in the moonlight, when it was summer? It was love at first sight. Fleeing, but eternal, words and melodies that surpassed language or key or tempo, and he revelled in it.
Arthur pulled himself from the magic, his head reeling from the loss of connection. Never did he feel so alone when the world was outside his head.
Whirlpools. Each strand flows and undulates, bumping against his skin before nudging, the apology of an old friend. Green eyes alight with amusement; even the connections have life and strength and will, and it is all he can do to keep himself from bending to that monsoon of intent.
Sparks. If each blade of grass holds this much intent, how does he keep himself from being lost in others like him, or his people? He is unsure, but a voice whispers in the back of his mind each time he considers losing himself in those connections. The web is soft, but eternal, it says. Avoid it, and you will be as well.
Pulses. The connections thrummed, filled him with a heartbeat that was not his own, the deep bass resonating with consciousness and conflict, and it was not unlike music. He could almost hear the lyrics, if he listened closely enough. Do you remember, kissing in the moonlight, when it was summer? It was love at first sight. Fleeing, but eternal, words and melodies that surpassed language or key or tempo, and he revelled in it.
Arthur pulled himself from the magic, his head reeling from the loss of connection. Never did he feel so alone when the world was outside his head.