Only Harrow the Ninth, she thinks, would need a theorem to understand friendship.
Self-pity. Nauseating. Useless.
She closes her eyes, then opens them again, having looked down to her journal. "It must be one piece of becoming a Lyctor. There was a stone tablet... glowing letters. I copied everything down and locked it back up."
"They were living chambers," she says. "For a necromancer and their cav. Funny to think about the Lyctors having cavaliers." For a moment, a vital insight swims through the turbid waters of her exhausted brain, but it escapes.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2020-08-27 05:39 am (UTC)Self-pity. Nauseating. Useless.
She closes her eyes, then opens them again, having looked down to her journal. "It must be one piece of becoming a Lyctor. There was a stone tablet... glowing letters. I copied everything down and locked it back up."
"They were living chambers," she says. "For a necromancer and their cav. Funny to think about the Lyctors having cavaliers." For a moment, a vital insight swims through the turbid waters of her exhausted brain, but it escapes.