(Who knows, though, maybe this skin will one day finally wither and fall upon the ground like autumn dry leaves.
When that happen, he will be at peace, for his exterior no longer mismatch his propriety; that he is, indeed, a corpse forced to breathe.)
In the midst of night, it so appears that the undead does unrest only when the sun already set. After all, the body might not decay, but the soul knows not to appear when the light of the day still shine itself on the skin of the one who should already be six feet under.
@deficitant (โno one knows the fact that this is his favorite book, for it was a secret he kept to himself, when he was alone on his bed with a candle lit beside himโ)
"๐ฑ๐ผ ๐๐ผ๐ ๐๐ฟ๐๐น๐ ๐ป๐ผ๐ ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐ฐ๐ผ๐ด๐ป๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ถ๐ ๐ฏ๐ผ๐ผ๐ธ?"
(โexcept for ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฎ.)
@deficitant "The book? Oh,"
(The book was a favorite of his. It was meant to be an anchor, to remind him of ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด before it was stolen from himโ)
"it must have fell out my bag, silly me! Thank you for noticing. But, if I may, humor me for awhile and tell me,"
[...]
@deficitant ๐๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด.
He knows it. It is ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด.
๐๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด.
He turns around, facing the owner of this voice. Andโ