[ He dealt with the worst of it when he returned from his brief venture to the peaks. Had to before coming back to town proper, before he could become whatever he was becoming and do real damage. But he can't keep his thoughts away from the caves, can't disengage from the stress of knowing what he left behind, knowing the risk of permanence, knowing he can't go back—
And so inky drops fall from his fingertips as quickly as he can get rid of them. And for all he could hide them in the dark, the town continues to fester. A waiting powder keg. He has enough of his head to know he can't afford to stay like this. ]
~mid month~
And so inky drops fall from his fingertips as quickly as he can get rid of them. And for all he could hide them in the dark, the town continues to fester. A waiting powder keg. He has enough of his head to know he can't afford to stay like this. ]
Quentin. Do you have time?