[ He had trouble sleeping for a few nights, and he looks at Byerly now—his arm, his side, hidden by his good clothes and the table—without trying to hide it. But he doesn’t ask, either. ]
I wonder what it feels like. So many of them seem to not be able to help themselves. Or they’re offended at the idea of being restrained from magic somehow. I don’t know if many of them here would agree to give it up, if there was a good way to do it, if that was the way to go free.
[ A swap, a better play. ]
Maybe it feels like music. Would you rather sing and dance in a tower, or try to reach for a melody or a rhythm and find nothing, forever?
no subject
[ He had trouble sleeping for a few nights, and he looks at Byerly now—his arm, his side, hidden by his good clothes and the table—without trying to hide it. But he doesn’t ask, either. ]
I wonder what it feels like. So many of them seem to not be able to help themselves. Or they’re offended at the idea of being restrained from magic somehow. I don’t know if many of them here would agree to give it up, if there was a good way to do it, if that was the way to go free.
[ A swap, a better play. ]
Maybe it feels like music. Would you rather sing and dance in a tower, or try to reach for a melody or a rhythm and find nothing, forever?