@darkestrellar : [Β coatedΒ ]Β sender findsΒ receiver coveredΒ inΒ blood (ss + I reversed it for you)
Don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it don'tthinkaboutitdon'tthinkaboutit
A phrase that echoes throughout his mind the second he's forced to grip his fire axe.
But it sure feels that way, the way blood has been spilled onto his clothes and hands. His navy blue and white jacket is unsurprisingly particularly stained a deep red, and he pointedly avoids looking at his own hands for the time being. It all may not be real, but it was also more real than any movie prop, and staring down at his own hands is too much right now.
What else was he supposed to do, if the place that is his home turns on him? Moving would probably be the more logical solution, and if he was being honest... he can't say he didn't consider it.
But White Forest just doesn't feel like it's something he can simply run from, and for all his anxiety....he has developed strength for this task. Whenever something changes in the woods, whenever it gets hostile, whenever he sees a memory play that insists these fake humans have killed others and seek to do the same to Blanc; his survival instinct kicks in with a vengeance.
But while in the moment he finds himself void of thought, the aftermath is always a heavy walk back to his house. Overthinking his own capacity to do harm, about how he is getting used to this. About how glad he is that so far, no one's found out.
Though, nobody anticipates stray cats breaking into their homes, do they?
He walks as though he's in a daze when he first gets into his house again. It's honestly not much safer inside than it is outside, but he strangely does find some peace in it regardless as he breathes a heavy sigh into the low light coming in from the outside.
But his heightened awareness of his surroundings makes him suddenly alert again. He doesn't catch his gaze automatically, lifting his head slowly from its tired position to stare ahead as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
But when he spots him standing there he knows, he'd recognize him anywhere. Someone he hadn't wanted to ever have witnessing him like this, though also one of the only people he'd ever entertained the idea of telling the truth to.
"Svern!" He falls back against the door, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights.
"I..." He tries to run through his mind for what to say, but quickly comes up empty as he allows the fire axe to clatter to the floor. "This... isn't what it looks like."
Not that the truth is really all that much better.
It's not real. Don't think about it. It's not real. Don't think about it.
