being in the same room as the monk is strange, to say the least; tekhartha
mondatta was a good person, in spite of the fire he’d fallen under— his successor
sitting before her. she’d known it would happen— it tends to happen while travelling
the world, but she’s unprepared all the same.
the silence in the air is suffocating. it accompanies the chill of the air in her
lungs on every inhale, reminding her with each breath. winter’s air has long since
gone frigid, finding peace in the warmth of her flight gear.
“... why here, zenyatta?” she finally asks— wincing at the directness of the
question. she can tell from the sanctum how disconnected the place is from life.
“if you don’t mind my asking, of course— but why all the way up here?”
@technotranquility. call.