ódauðlegur.

          # asynjja ;   on hiatus for a couple of weeks!   an exploration of immortality, war, germanic mythology, and religious desperation   within the science fiction genre ――   through the eyes of   moa zhao,  the ódauðlegur,   and written by lyn  ( she / her by default, any pronouns are fine ).   gmt+2 and based in central europe,   low to medium activity due to university.   discord is available for mutuals.   banner credit goes to shebb.   currently reading:   frank herbert’s dune and sarah j. maas’ a court of thorns and roses.

PROMPT :     what the fuck did you do that for ?!   ➝   @mclti​

                    time.   walter once said that it was the one limiting variable that gave value to every experience and every emotion associated with life.   among all his daring theories and unprovable hypotheses,   this was one she agreed with.   a cigarette between her fingertips and lungs filled with cold winter air,   she had mutely substantiated his claim.   life was meaningless without its FLEETING NATURE,   a procedure with flawed parameters.   something not worth striving for despite william’s unruly ambitions.   the door to the interrogation room falls shut,   palm momentarily resting upon the doorknob before she turns to face kathryn.   the anger in her voice is expected but unfruitful;   but a couple of seconds pass until the slender figure of a special agent makes its way towards the table.   across the room and with his arms crossed over the chest,   broyles inspects the younger bishop with consideration.

“ peter is recovering well. ”     the remark carries a certain impudence that she herself is aware of.   there is a chair next to the hospital bed,   waiting for kathryn to sit down and hold her brother’s hand.   she imagines walter asking about her,   ignores astrid’s messages;   barring the one person that comes closest to being her own daughter from seeing he injured brother was hardly a decision made light-heartedly.   finally  , as silhouette settles on the chair across the younger twin’s,   she exhales the tense breath ――   inaudibly.     “ initially, broyles and i thought that the machine was activated by your counterpart.   but we found evidence that she was killed months ago. ”     the silence that follows is dreadful.   something along the lines of unspoken condolences is written across obsidian eyes,   hands folded together on top of her lap and back resting against the hard surface of the chair.   she sees broyles diverting his eyes for a moment.   when two universes collide,   only one remains;   but the calculations scribbled across a blackboard in harvard never considered the TRAUMA of surviving the collision ――   of seeing a reflection of yourself,   dead,   mutilated.

“ which leaves only one other option, ”     she says and broyles pushes himself off the two-way mirror that reflects his strained figure against artificial light.   when the fringe division and the aco joined their resources,   he looked different and much younger.   now,   he paces through the room like he anticipates mines under his feet.