>>6185594https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjBslXaiXIgThe first breath in the waking world is deep and sharp. Your heart is beating out of your chest, the monitor is going ballistic. As you fall out of bed, your muscles are weak, barely able to hold themselves up. A vicious, nonstop tremor ripples through you, as if the cold ice was still in you, leaking out as frigid water.
When you regain your senses, you prop yourself up and liberate yourself from the health monitors. You are in perfect condition, the doctors tell you. Do you trust them? Do you trust your researchers? The ultimatum is the only thing that keeps them from exploiting you for their own gain. An expert is an expert for their own sake. You were.
The warmth and safety of the covers tempts you, whispers sweetly into your ear, but you have to check on Lotta.
Pushing past the crowd of the medical team that was rushing to your door, you step through the dark halls of the section of the Undercroft you've declared to be your residence. Officially you have a manor, but down here is closer to the research. Closer to your work. The things you fight for, which you truly hold dear.
Lotta was unable to leave her room as she was being studied, and the Undercroft is no place for a girl to run around. You unlock the door and try to open it.
There is a weight against the door.
You press gently.
It weakly slumps over.
You don't know to scream, cry, or vomit.
A researcher comes up to you, offering excuses and condolences you cannot hear.
The girl is not on your mind. The boy is not on your mind. A black noise fills your head, a deafening silence like what was in the depths of that river. The walls of your head are closing in, and in your head, quickly realize there is no room for anything, nothing but two things.
Your hatred of mortality.
And <span class="mu-i">Tuonela burning.</span>
<span class="mu-g">End of Thread #8</span>
